Three Blind Mice and Other Stories

ThreeBlindMiceandOtherStories
Epigraph
ThreeBlindMice
ThreeBlindMice
Seehowtheyrun
Seehowtheyrun
Theyallranafterthefarmer’swife
Shecutofftheirtailswithacarvingknife
Didyoueverseesuchasightinyourlife
As
THREEBLINDMICE
Contents
Epigraph
1ThreeBlindMice
2StrangeJest
3TapeMeasureMurder
4TheCaseofthePerfectMaid
5TheCaseoftheCaretaker
6TheThirdFloorFlat
7TheAdventureofJohnnieWaverly
8FourandTwentyBlackbirds
9TheLoveDetectives
AbouttheAuthor
TheAgathaChristieCollection
RelatedProducts
Copyright
AboutthePublisher
One
THREEBLINDMICE
Itwasverycold.Theskywasdarkandheavywithunshedsnow.
Amaninadarkovercoat,withhismufflerpulleduproundhisface,andhishatpulleddownoverhiseyes,camealongCulverStreetandwentupthestepsofnumber74.Heputhisfingeronthebellandhearditshrillinginthebasementbelow.
Mrs.Casey,herhandsbusyinthesink,saidbitterly,“Dratthatbell.Neveranypeace,thereisn’t.”
Wheezingalittle,shetoiledupthebasementstairsandopenedthedoor.
Themanstandingsilhouettedagainsttheloweringskyoutsideaskedinawhisper,“Mrs.Lyon?”
“Secondfloor,”saidMrs.Casey.“Youcangoonup.Doessheexpectyou?”Themanslowlyshookhishead.“Oh,well,goonupandknock.”
Shewatchedhimashewentuptheshabbilycarpetedstairs.Afterwardshesaidhe“gaveherafunnyfeeling.”Butactuallyallshethoughtwasthathemusthaveaprettybadcoldonlytobeabletowhisperlikethat—andnowonderwiththeweatherwhatitwas.
Whenthemangotroundthebendofthestaircasehebegantowhistlesoftly.Thetunehewhistledwas“ThreeBlindMice.”MollyDavissteppedbackintotheroadandlookedupatthenewlypaintedboardbythegate.
MONKSWELLMANOR
GUESTHOUSE
Shenoddedapproval.Itlooked,itreallydidlook,quiteprofessional.Or,perhaps,onemightsayalmostprofessional.TheTofGuestHousestaggereduphillalittle,andtheendofManorwasslightlycrowded,butonthewholeGileshadmadeawonderfuljobofit.Gileswasreallyveryclever.Thereweresomanythingsthathecoulddo.Shewasalwaysmakingfreshdiscoveriesaboutthishusbandofhers.Hesaidsolittleabouthimselfthatitwasonlybydegreesthatshewasfindingoutwhatalotofvariedtalentshehad.Anex-navalmanwasalwaysa“handyman,”sopeoplesaid.
Well,Gileswouldhaveneedofallhistalentsintheirnewventure.NobodycouldbemorerawtothebusinessofrunningaguesthousethansheandGiles.Butitwouldbegreatfun.Anditdidsolvethehousingproblem.
IthadbeenMolly’sidea.WhenAuntKatherinedied,andthelawyerswrotetoherandinformedherthatheraunthadleftherMonkswellManor,thenaturalreactionoftheyoungcouplehadbeentosellit.Gileshadasked,“Whatisitlike?”AndMollyhadreplied,“Oh,abig,ramblingoldhouse,fullofstuffy,old-fashionedVictorianfurniture.Ratheranicegarden,butterriblyovergrownsincethewar,becausethere’sbeenonlyoneoldgardenerleft.”
Sotheyhaddecidedtoputthehouseonthemarket,andkeepjustenoughfurnituretofurnishasmallcottageorflatforthemselves.
Buttwodifficultiesaroseatonce.First,thereweren’tanysmallcottagesorflatstobefound,andsecondly,allthefurniturewasenormous.
“Well”saidMolly,“we’lljusthavetosellitall.Isupposeitwillsell?”
Thesolicitorassuredthemthatnowadaysanythingwouldsell.
“Veryprobably,”hesaid,“someonewillbuyitforahotelorguesthouseinwhichcasetheymightliketobuyitwiththefurniturecomplete.Fortunatelythehouseisinverygoodrepair.ThelateMissEmoryhadextensiverepairsandmodernizationsdonejustbeforethewar,andtherehasbeenverylittledeterioration.Oh,yes,it’singoodshape.”
AnditwasthenthatMollyhadhadheridea.
“Giles,”shesaid,“whyshouldn’twerunitasaguesthouseourselves?”
Atfirstherhusbandhadscoffedattheidea,butMollyhadpersisted.
“Weneedn’ttakeverymanypeople—notatfirst.It’saneasyhousetorun—it’sgothotandcoldwaterinthebedroomsandcentralheatingandagascooker.Andwecanhavehensandducksandourowneggs,andvegetables.”
“Who’ddoallthework—isn’titveryhardtogetservants?”
“Oh,we’dhavetodothework.Butwhereverwelivedwe’dhavetodothat.Afewextrapeoplewouldn’treallymeanmuchmoretodo.We’dprobablygetawomantocomeinafterabitwhenwegotproperlystarted.Ifwehadonlyfivepeople,eachpayingsevenguineasaweek—”Mollydepartedintotherealmsofsomewhatoptimisticmentalarithmetic.
“Andthink,Giles,”sheended,“itwouldbeourownhouse.Withourownthings.Asitis,itseemstomeitwillbeyearsbeforewecaneverfindanywheretolive.”
That,Gilesadmitted,wastrue.Theyhadhadsolittletimetogethersincetheirhastymarriage,thattheywerebothlongingtosettledowninahome.
Sothegreatexperimentwassetunderway.AdvertisementswereputinthelocalpaperandintheTimes,andvariousanswerscame.
Andnow,today,thefirstoftheguestswastoarrive.Gileshadgoneoffearlyinthecartotryandobtainsomearmywirenettingthathadbeenadvertisedasforsaleontheothersideofthecounty.Mollyannouncedthenecessityofwalkingtothevillagetomakesomelastpurchases.
Theonlythingthatwaswrongwastheweather.Forthelasttwodaysithadbeenbitterlycold,andnowthesnowwasbeginningtofall.Mollyhurriedupthedrive,thick,featheryflakesfallingonherwaterproofedshouldersandbrightcurlyhair.Theweatherforecastshadbeenlugubriousintheextreme.Heavysnowfallwastobeexpected.
Shehopedanxiouslythatallthepipeswouldn’tfreeze.Itwouldbetoobadifeverythingwentwrongjustastheystarted.Sheglancedatherwatch.Pastteatime.WouldGileshavegotbackyet?Wouldhebewonderingwhereshewas?
“IhadtogotothevillageagainforsomethingIhadforgotten,”shewouldsay.Andhewouldlaughandsay,“Moretins?”
Tinswereajokebetweenthem.Theywerealwaysonthelookoutfortinsoffood.Thelarderwasreallyquitenicelystockednowincaseofemergencies.
And,Mollythoughtwithagrimaceasshelookedupatthesky,itlookedasthoughemergenciesweregoingtopresentthemselvesverysoon.
Thehousewasempty.Gileswasnotbackyet.Mollywentfirstintothekitchen,thenupstairs,goingroundthenewlypreparedbedrooms.Mrs.Boyleinthesouthroomwiththemahoganyandthefourposter.MajorMetcalfintheblueroomwiththeoak.Mr.Wrenintheeastroomwiththebaywindow.Alltheroomslookedverynice—andwhatablessingthatAuntKatherinehadhadsuchasplendidstockoflinen.Mollypattedacounterpaneintoplaceandwentdownstairsagain.Itwasnearlydark.Thehousefeltsuddenlyveryquietandempty.Itwasalonelyhouse,twomilesfromavillage,twomiles,asMollyputit,fromanywhere.
Shehadoftenbeenaloneinthehousebefore—butshehadneverbeforebeensoconsciousofbeingaloneinit.
Thesnowbeatinasoftflurryagainstthewindowpanes.Itmadeawhispery,uneasysound.SupposingGilescouldn’tgetback—supposingthesnowwassothickthatthecarcouldn’tgetthrough?Supposingshehadtostayalonehere—stayalonefordays,perhaps.
Shelookedroundthekitchen—abig,comfortablekitchenthatseemedtocallforabig,comfortablecookpresidingatthekitchentable,herjawsmovingrhythmicallyassheaterockcakesanddrankblacktea—sheshouldbeflankedbyatall,elderlyparlormaidononesideandaround,rosyhousemaidontheother,withakitchenmaidattheotherendofthetableobservingherbetterswithfrightenedeyes.Andinsteadtherewasjustherself,MollyDavis,playingarolethatdidnotyetseemaverynaturalroletoplay.Herwholelife,atthemoment,seemedunreal—Gilesseemedunreal.Shewasplayingapart—justplayingapart.
Ashadowpassedthewindow,andshejumped—astrangemanwascomingthroughthesnow.Sheheardtherattleofthesidedoor.Thestrangerstoodthereintheopendoorway,shakingoffsnow,astrangeman,walkingintotheemptyhouse.
Andthen,suddenly,illusionfled.
“OhGiles,”shecried,“I’msogladyou’vecome!”
“Hullo,sweetheart!Whatfilthyweather!Lord,I’mfrozen.”
Hestampedhisfeetandblewthroughhishands.
AutomaticallyMollypickedupthecoatthathehadthrowninaGiles-likemannerontotheoakchest.Sheputitonahanger,takingoutofthestuffedpocketsamuffler,anewspaper,aballofstring,andthemorning’scorrespondencewhichhehadshovedinpellmell.Movingintothekitchen,shelaiddownthearticlesonthedresserandputthekettleonthegas.
“Didyougetthenetting?”sheasked.“Whatagesyou’vebeen.”
“Itwasn’ttherightkind.Wouldn’thavebeenanygoodforus.Iwentontoanotherdump,butthatwasn’tanygood,either.Whathaveyoubeendoingwithyourself?Nobodyturnedupyet,Isuppose?”
“Mrs.Boyleisn’tcomingtilltomorrow,anyway.”
“MajorMetcalfandMr.Wrenoughttobeheretoday.”
“MajorMetcalfsentacardtosayhewouldn’tbeheretilltomorrow.”
“ThenthatleavesusandMr.Wrenfordinner.Whatdoyouthinkhe’slike?Correctsortofretiredcivilservantismyidea.”
“No,Ithinkhe’sanartist.”
“Inthatcase,”saidGiles,“we’dbettergetaweek’srentinadvance.”
“Oh,no,Giles,theybringluggage.Iftheydon’tpaywehangontotheirluggage.”
“Andsupposetheirluggageisstoneswrappedupinnewspaper?Thetruthis,Molly,wedon’tintheleastknowwhatwe’reupagainstinthisbusiness.Ihopetheydon’tspotwhatbeginnersweare.”
“Mrs.Boyleissureto,”saidMolly.“She’sthatkindofwoman.”
“Howdoyouknow?Youhaven’tseenher?”
Mollyturnedaway.Shespreadanewspaperonthetable,fetchedsomecheese,andsettoworktograteit.
“What’sthis?”inquiredherhusband.
“It’sgoingtobeWelshrarebit,”Mollyinformedhim.“Breadcrumbsandmashedpotatoesandjustateenyweenybitofcheesetojustifyitsname.”
“Aren’tyouaclevercook?”saidheradmiringhusband.
“Iwonder.Icandoonethingatatime.It’sassemblingthemthatneedssomuchpractice.Breakfastistheworst.”
“Why?”
“Becauseitallhappensatonce—eggsandbaconandhotmilkandcoffeeandtoast.Themilkboilsover,orthetoastburns,orthebaconfrizzles,ortheeggsgohard.Youhavetobeasactiveasascaldedcatwatchingeverythingatonce.”
“Ishallhavetocreepdownunobservedtomorrowmorningandwatchthisscalded-catimpersonation.”
“Thekettle’sboiling,”saidMolly.“Shallwetakethetrayintothelibraryandhearthewireless?It’salmosttimeforthenews.”
“Asweseemtobegoingtospendalmostthewholeofourtimeinthekitchen,weoughttohaveawirelessthere,too.”
“Yes.Hownicekitchensare.Ilovethiskitchen.Ithinkit’sfarandawaythenicestroominthehouse.Ilikethedresserandtheplates,andIsimplylovethelavishfeelingthatanabsolutelyenormouskitchenrangegivesyou—though,ofcourse,I’mthankfulIhaven’tgottocookonit.”
“Isupposeawholeyear’sfuelrationwouldgoinoneday.”
“Almostcertainly,Ishouldsay.Butthinkofthegreatjointsthatwereroastedinit—sirloinsofbeefandsaddlesofmutton.Colossalcopperpreservingpansfullofhomemadestrawberryjamwithpoundsandpoundsofsugargoingintoit.Whatalovely,comfortableagetheVictorianagewas.Lookatthefurnitureupstairs,largeandsolidandratherornate—but,oh!—theheavenlycomfortofit,withlotsofroomfortheclothesoneusedtohave,andeverydrawerslidinginandoutsoeasily.Doyourememberthatsmartmodernflatwewerelent?Everythingbuiltinandsliding—onlynothingslid—italwaysstuck.Andthedoorspushedshut—onlytheyneverstayedshut,oriftheydidshuttheywouldn’topen.”
“Yes,that’stheworstofgadgets.Iftheydon’tgoright,you’resunk.”
“Well,comeon,let’shearthenews.”
Thenewsconsistedmainlyofgrimwarningsabouttheweather,theusualdeadlockinforeignaffairs,spiritedbickeringsinParliament,andamurderinCulverStreet,Paddington.
“Ugh,”saidMolly,switchingitoff.“Nothingbutmisery.I’mnotgoingtohearappealsforfueleconomyalloveragain.Whatdotheyexpectyoutodo,sitandfreeze?Idon’tthinkweoughttohavetriedtostartaguesthouseinthewinter.Weoughttohavewaiteduntilthespring.”Sheaddedinadifferenttoneofvoice,“Iwonderwhatthewomanwaslikewhowasmurdered.”
“Mrs.Lyon?”
“Wasthathername?Iwonderwhowantedtomurderherandwhy.”
“Perhapsshehadafortuneunderthefloorboards.”
“Whenitsaysthepoliceareanxioustointerviewaman‘seeninthevicinity’doesthatmeanhe’sthemurderer?”
“Ithinkit’susuallythat.Justapolitewayofputtingit.”
Theshrillnoteofabellmadethembothjump.
“That’sthefrontdoor,”saidGiles.“Enter—amurderer,”headdedfacetiously.
“Itwouldbe,ofcourse,inaplay.Hurryup.ItmustbeMr.Wren.Nowweshallseewho’srightabouthim,youorme.”
Mr.Wrenandaflurryofsnowcameintogetherwitharush.AllthatMolly,standinginthelibrarydoor,couldseeofthenewcomerwashissilhouetteagainstthewhiteworldoutside.
Howalike,thoughtMolly,wereallmenintheirliveryofcivilization.Darkovercoat,grayhat,mufflerroundtheneck.
InanothermomentGileshadshutthefrontdooragainsttheelements,Mr.Wrenwasunwindinghismufflerandcastingdownhissuitcaseandflingingoffhishat—all,itseemed,atthesametime,andalsotalking.Hehadahigh-pitched,almostquerulousvoiceandstoodrevealedinthelightofthehallasayoungmanwithashockoflight,sunburnedhairandpale,restlesseyes.
“Too,toofrightful,”hewassaying.“TheEnglishwinteratitsworst—areversiontoDickens—ScroogeandTinyTimandallthat.Onehadtobesoterriblyheartytostanduptoitall.Don’tyouthinkso?AndI’vehadaterriblecross-countryjourneyfromWales.AreyouMrs.Davis?Buthowdelightful!”Molly’shandwasseizedinaquick,bonyclasp.“NotatallasI’dimaginedyou.I’dpicturedyou,youknow,asanIndianarmygeneral’swidow.Terrificallygrimandmemsahibish—andBenareswhatnot—arealVictorianwhatnot.Heavenly,simplyheavenly—Haveyougotanywaxflowers?Orbirdsofparadise?Oh,butI’msimplygoingtolovethisplace.Iwasafraid,youknow,itwouldbeveryOldeWorlde—very,veryManorHouse—failingtheBenaresbrass,Imean.Instead,it’smarvelous—realVictorianbedrockrespectability.Tellme,haveyougotoneofthosebeautifulsideboards—mahogany—purple-plummymahoganywithgreatcarvedfruits?”
“Asamatteroffact,”saidMolly,ratherbreathlessunderthistorrentofwords,“wehave.”
“No!CanIseeit?Atonce.Inhere?”
Hisquicknesswasalmostdisconcerting.Hehadturnedthehandleofthedining-roomdoor,andclickedonthelight.Mollyfollowedhimin,consciousofGiles’sdisapprovingprofileonherleft.
Mr.Wrenpassedhislongbonyfingersovertherichcarvingofthemassivesideboardwithlittlecriesofappreciation.Thenheturnedareproachfulglanceuponhishostess.
“Nobigmahoganydiningtable?Alltheselittletablesdottedaboutinstead?”
“Wethoughtpeoplewouldpreferitthatway,”saidMolly.
“Darling,ofcourseyou’requiteright.Iwasbeingcarriedawaybymyfeelingforperiod.Ofcourse,ifyouhadthetable,you’dhavetohavetherightfamilyroundit.Stern,handsomefatherwithabeard—prolific,fadedmother,elevenchildren,agrimgoverness,andsomebodycalled‘poorHarriet’—thepoorrelationwhoactsasgeneralhelperandisvery,verygratefulforbeinggivenagoodhome.Lookatthatgrate—thinkoftheflamesleapingupthechimneyandblisteringpoorHarriet’sback.”
“I’lltakeyoursuitcaseupstairs,”saidGiles.“Eastroom?”
“Yes,”saidMolly.
Mr.WrenskippedoutintothehallagainasGileswentupstairs.
“Hasitgotafour-posterwithlittlechintzroses?”heasked.
“No,ithasn’t,”saidGilesanddisappearedroundthebendofthestaircase
“Idon’tbelieveyourhusbandisgoingtolikeme,”saidMr.Wren.“What’shebeenin?Thenavy?”
“Yes.”
“Ithoughtso.They’remuchlesstolerantthanthearmyandtheairforce.Howlonghaveyoubeenmarried?Areyouverymuchinlovewithhim?”
“Perhapsyou’dliketocomeupandseeyourroom.”
“Yes,ofcoursethatwasimpertinent.ButIdidreallywanttoknow.Imean,it’sinteresting,don’tyouthink,toknowallaboutpeople?Whattheyfeelandthink,Imean,notjustwhotheyareandwhattheydo.”
“Isuppose,”saidMollyinademurevoice,“youareMr.Wren?”
Theyoungmanstoppedshort,clutchedhishairinbothhandsandtuggedatit.
“Buthowfrightful—Ineverputfirstthingsfirst.Yes,I’mChristopherWren—now,don’tlaugh.Myparentswerearomanticcouple.TheyhopedI’dbeanarchitect.SotheythoughtitasplendidideatochristenmeChristopher—halfwayhome,asitwere.”
“Andareyouanarchitect?”askedMolly,unabletohelpsmiling.
“Yes,Iam,”saidMr.Wrentriumphantly.“AtleastI’mnearlyone.I’mnotfullyqualifiedyet.Butit’sreallyaremarkableexampleofwishfulthinkingcomingoffforonce.Mindyou,actuallythenamewillbeahandicap.IshallneverbetheChristopherWren.However,ChrisWren’sPre-FabNestsmayachievefame.”
Gilescamedownthestairsagain,andMollysaid,“I’llshowyouyourroomnow,Mr.Wren.”
Whenshecamedownafewminuteslater,Gilessaid,“Well,didheliketheprettyoakfurniture?”
“Hewasveryanxioustohaveafour-poster,soIgavehimtheroseroominstead.”
Gilesgruntedandmurmuredsomethingthatended,“…youngtwerp.”
“Now,lookhere,Giles,”Mollyassumedaseveredemeanor.“Thisisn’tahousepartyofguestswe’reentertaining.Thisisbusiness.WhetheryoulikeChristopherWrenornot—”
“Idon’t,”Gilesinterjected.
“—hasnothingwhatevertodowithit.He’spayingsevenguineasaweek,andthat’sallthatmatters.”
“Ifhepaysit,yes.”
“He’sagreedtopayit.We’vegothisletter.”
“Didyoutransferthatsuitcaseofhistotheroseroom?”
“Hecarriedit,ofcourse.”
“Verygallant.Butitwouldn’thavestrainedyou.There’scertainlynoquestionofstoneswrappedupinnewspaper.It’ssolightthatthereseemstomethere’sprobablynothinginit.”
“Ssh,herehecomes,”saidMollywarningly.
ChristopherWrenwasconductedtothelibrarywhichlooked,Mollythought,verynice,indeed,withitsbigchairsanditslogfire.Dinner,shetoldhim,wouldbeinhalfanhour’stime.Inreplytoaquestion,sheexplainedthattherewerenootherguestsatthemoment.Inthatcase,Christophersaid,howwoulditbeifhecameintothekitchenandhelped?
“Icancookyouanomeletteifyoulike,”hesaidengagingly.
Thesubsequentproceedingstookplaceinthekitchen,andChristopherhelpedwiththewashingup.
Somehow,Mollyfelt,itwasnotquitetherightstartforaconventionalguesthouse—andGileshadnotlikeditatall.Oh,well,thoughtMolly,asshefellasleep,tomorrowwhentheotherscameitwouldbedifferent.Themorningcamewithdarkskiesandsnow.Gileslookedgrave,andMolly’sheartfell.Theweatherwasgoingtomakeeverythingverydifficult.
Mrs.Boylearrivedinthelocaltaxiwithchainsonthewheels,andthedriverbroughtpessimisticreportsofthestateoftheroad.
“Driftsaforenightfall,”heprophesied.
Mrs.Boyleherselfdidnotlightentheprevailinggloom.Shewasalarge,forbidding-lookingwomanwitharesonantvoiceandamasterfulmanner.Hernaturalaggressivenesshadbeenheightenedbyawarcareerofpersistentandmilitantusefulness.
“IfIhadnotbelievedthiswasarunningconcern,Ishouldneverhavecome,”shesaid.“Inaturallythoughtitwasawell-establishedguesthouse,properlyrunonscientificlines.”
“Thereisnoobligationforyoutoremainifyouarenotsatisfied,Mrs.Boyle,”saidGiles.
“No,indeed,andIshallnotthinkofdoingso.”
“Perhaps,Mrs.Boyle,”saidGiles,“youwouldliketoringupforataxi.Theroadsarenotyetblocked.Iftherehasbeenanymisapprehensionitwould,perhaps,bebetterifyouwentelsewhere.”Headded,“Wehavehadsomanyapplicationsforroomsthatweshallbeabletofillyourplacequiteeasily—indeed,infuturewearechargingahigherrateforourrooms.”
Mrs.Boylethrewhimasharpglance.“IamcertainlynotgoingtoleavebeforeIhavetriedwhattheplaceislike.Perhapsyouwouldletmehavearatherlargebathtowel,Mrs.Davis.Iamnotaccustomedtodryingmyselfonapockethandkerchief.”
GilesgrinnedatMollybehindMrs.Boyle’sretreatingback.
“Darling,youwerewonderful,”saidMolly.“Thewayyoustooduptoher.”
“Bulliessoonclimbdownwhentheygettheirownmedicine,”saidGiles.
“Oh,dear,”saidMolly.“Iwonderhowshe’llgetonwithChristopherWren.”
“Shewon’t,”saidGiles.
And,indeed,thatveryafternoon,Mrs.BoyleremarkedtoMolly,“That’saverypeculiaryoungman,”withdistinctdisfavorinhervoice.
ThebakerarrivedlookinglikeanArcticexploreranddeliveredthebreadwiththewarningthathisnextcall,dueintwodays’time,mightnotmaterialize
“Holdupseverywhere,”heannounced.“Gotplentyofstoresin,Ihope?”
“Oh,yes,”saidMolly.“We’vegotlotsoftins.I’dbettertakeextraflour,though.”
ShethoughtvaguelythattherewassomethingtheIrishmadecalledsodabread.Iftheworstcametotheworstshecouldprobablymakethat.
Thebakerhadalsobroughtthepapers,andshespreadthemoutonthehalltable.Foreignaffairshadrecededinimportance.TheweatherandthemurderofMrs.Lyonoccupiedthefrontpage.
Shewasstaringattheblurredreproductionofthedeadwoman’sfeatureswhenChristopherWren’svoicebehindhersaid,“Ratherasordidmurder,don’tyouthink?Suchadrab-lookingwomanandsuchadrabstreet.Onecan’tfeel,canone,thatthereisanystorybehindit?”
“I’venodoubt,”saidMrs.Boylewithasnort,“thatthecreaturegotnomorethanshedeserved.”
“Oh.”Mr.Wrenturnedtoherwithengagingeagerness.“Soyouthinkit’sdefinitelyasexcrime,doyou?”
“Isuggestednothingofthekind,Mr.Wren.”
“Butshewasstrangled,wasn’tshe?Iwonder—”heheldouthislongwhitehands—“whatitwouldfeelliketostrangleanyone.”
“Really,Mr.Wren!”
Christophermovednearertoher,loweringhisvoice.“Haveyouconsidered,Mrs.Boyle,justwhatitwouldfeelliketobestrangled?”
Mrs.Boylesaidagain,evenmoreindignantly,“Really,Mr.Wren!”
Mollyreadhurriedlyout,“‘ThemanthepoliceareanxioustointerviewwaswearingadarkovercoatandalightHomburghat,wasofmediumheight,andworeawoolenscarf.’”
“Infact,”saidChristopherWren,“helookedjustlikeeverybodyelse.”Helaughed.
“Yes,”saidMolly.“Justlikeeverybodyelse.”
InhisroomatScotlandYard,InspectorParmintersaidtoDetectiveSergeantKane,“I’llseethosetwoworkmennow.”
“Yes,sir.”
“Whataretheylike?”
“Decentclassworkingmen.Ratherslowreactions.Dependable.”
“Right.”InspectorParminternodded.
Presentlytwoembarrassed-lookingmenintheirbestclotheswereshownintohisroom.Parmintersummedthemupwithaquickeye.Hewasanadeptatsettingpeopleattheirease.
“Soyouthinkyou’vesomeinformationthatmightbeusefultousontheLyoncase,”hesaid.“Goodofyoutocomealong.Sitdown.Smoke?”
Hewaitedwhiletheyacceptedcigarettesandlitup.
“Prettyawfulweatheroutside.”
“Itisthat,sir.”
“Well,now,then—let’shaveit.”
Thetwomenlookedateachother,embarrassednowthatitcametothedifficultiesofnarration.
“Goahead,Joe,”saidthebiggerofthetwo.
Joewentahead.“Itwaslikethis,see.We’adn’tgotamatch.”
“Wherewasthis?”
“JarmanStreet—wewasworkingontheroadthere—gasmains.”
InspectorParminternodded.Laterhewouldgetdowntoexactdetailsoftimeandplace.JarmanStreet,heknewwasintheclosevicinityofCulverStreetwherethetragedyhadtakenplace.
“Youhadn’tgotamatch,”herepeatedencouragingly.
“No.Finishedmybox,I’ad,andBill’slighterwouldn’twork,andsoIspoketoablokeaswaspassing.‘Canyougiveusamatch,mister?’Isays.Didn’tthinknothingparticular,Ididn’t,notthen.Hewasjustpassing—likelotsofothers—Ijust’appenedtoarsk’im.”
AgainParminternodded.
“Well,hegiveusamatch,’edid.Didn’tsaynothing.‘Cruelcold,’Billsaidto’im,andhejustanswered,whispering-like,‘Yes,itis.’Gotacoldonhischest,Ithought.Hewasallwrappedup,anyway.‘Thanksmister,’Isaysandgiveshimbackhismatches,andhemovesoffquick,soquickthatwhenIsees’e’ddroppedsomething,it’salmosttoolatetocall’imback.Itwasalittlenotebookashemust’avepulledoutof’ispocketwhenhegotthematchesout.‘Hi,mister,’Icallsafter’im,‘you’vedroppedsomething.’Buthedidn’tseemtohear—hejustquickensupandboltsroundthecorner,didn’t’e,Bill?”
“That’sright,”agreedBill.“Likeascurryingrabbit.”
“IntotheHarrowRoad,thatwas,anditdidn’tseemaswe’dcatchupwithhimthere,nottherate’ewasgoing,and,anyway,bythenitwasabitlate—itwasonlyalittlebook,notawalletoranythinglikethat—maybeitwasn’timportant.‘Funnybloke,’Isays.‘Hishatpulleddownoverhiseyes,andallbuttonedup—likeacrookonthepictures,’IsaystoBill,didn’tI,Bill?”
“That’swhatyousaid,”agreedBill.
“FunnyIshouldhavesaidthat,notthatIthoughtanythingatthetime.Justinahurrytogethome,that’swhatIthought,andIdidn’tblame’im.Not’arfcold,itwas!”
“Not’arf,”agreedBill.
“SoIsaystoBill,‘Let’s’avealookatthislittlebookandseeifit’simportant.’Well,sir,Itookalook.‘Onlyacoupleofaddresses,’IsaystoBill.Seventy-FourCulverStreetandsomeblinkingmanor’ouse.”
“Ritzy,”saidBillwithasnortofdisapproval.
Joecontinuedhistalewithacertaingustonowthathehadgotwoundup.
“‘Seventy-FourCulverStreet,’IsaystoBill.‘That’sjustroundthecornerfrom’ere.Whenweknockoff,we’lltakeitround’—andthenIseessomethingwrittenacrossthetopofthepage.‘What’sthis?’IsaystoBill.Andhetakesitandreadsitout.‘“Threeblindmice”—mustbeoff’isknocker,’hesays—andjustatthatverymoment—yes,itwasthatverymoment,sir,we’earssomewomanyelling,‘Murder!’acoupleofstreetsaway!”
Joepausedatthisartisticclimax.
“Didn’thalfyell,didshe?”heresumed.“‘Here,’IsaystoBill,‘younipalong.’Andbyandbyhecomesbackandsaysthere’sabigcrowdandthepolicearethereandsomewoman’shadherthroatcutorbeenstrangledandthatwasthelandladywhofoundher,yellingforthepolice.‘Wherewasit?’Isaystohim.‘InCulverStreet,’hesays.‘Whatnumber?’Iasks,andhesayshedidn’trightlynotice.”
Billcoughedandshuffledhisfeetwiththesheepishairofonewhohasnotdonehimselfjustice.
“SoIsays,‘We’llniparoundandmakesure,’andwhenwefindsit’snumberseventy-fourwetalkitover,and‘Maybe,’Billsays,‘theaddressinthenotebook’sgotnothingtodowithit,’andIsaysasmaybeithas,and,anyway,afterwe’vetalkeditoverandheardthepolicewanttointerviewamanwholeftthe’ouseaboutthattime,well,wecomealong’ereandaskifwecanseethegentlemanwho’shandlingthecase,andI’msureI’opeaswearen’twastingyourtime.”
“Youactedveryproperly,”saidParminterapprovingly.“You’vebroughtthenotebookwithyou?Thankyou.Now—”
Hisquestionsbecamebriskandprofessional.Hegotplaces,times,dates—theonlythinghedidnotgetwasadescriptionofthemanwhohaddroppedthenotebook.Insteadhegotthesamedescriptionashehadalreadygotfromahystericallandlady,thedescriptionofahatpulleddownovertheeyes,abuttoned-upcoat,amufflerswathedroundthelowerpartofaface,avoicethatwasonlyawhisper,glovedhands.
Whenthemenhadgoneheremainedstaringdownatthelittlebooklyingopenonhistable.Presentlyitwouldgototheappropriatedepartmenttoseewhatevidence,ifany,offingerprintsitmightreveal.Butnowhisattentionwasheldbythetwoaddressesandbythelineofsmallhandwritingalongthetopofthepage.
HeturnedhisheadasSergeantKanecameintotheroom.
“Comehere,Kane.Lookatthis.”
Kanestoodbehindhimandletoutalowwhistleashereadout,“‘ThreeBlindMice!’Well,I’mdashed!”
“Yes.”Parminteropenedadrawerandtookoutahalfsheetofnotepaperwhichhelaidbesidethenotebookonhisdesk.Ithadbeenfoundpinnedcarefullytothemurderedwoman.
Onitwaswritten,Thisisthefirst.Belowwasachildishdrawingofthreemiceandabarofmusic.
Kanewhistledthetunesoftly.ThreeBlindMice,Seehowtheyrun—
“That’sit,allright.That’sthesignaturetune.”
“Crazy,isn’tit,sir?”
“Yes.”Parminterfrowned.“Theidentificationofthewomanisquitecertain?”
“Yes,sir.Here’sthereportfromthefingerprintsdepartment.Mrs.Lyon,asshecalledherself,wasreallyMaureenGregg.ShewasreleasedfromHollowaytwomonthsagooncompletionofhersentence.”
Parmintersaidthoughtfully,“ShewenttoSeventy-FourCulverStreetcallingherselfMaureenLyon.Sheoccasionallydrankabitandshehadbeenknowntobringamanhomewithheronceortwice.Shedisplayednofearofanythingoranyone.There’snoreasontobelieveshethoughtherselfinanydanger.Thismanringsthebell,asksforher,andis
“Thiswasn’tacasualmurder,Kane.Itwascarefullyplanned.”Hepausedandthenaddedabruptly,“IwonderhowmanyhousesthereareinEnglandcalledMonkswellManor?”
“Theremightbeonlyone,sir.”
“Thatwouldprobablybetoomuchluck.Butgetonwithit.There’snotimetolose.”
Thesergeant’seyerestedappreciativelyontwoentriesinthenotebook—74CulverStreet;MonkswellManor.
Hesaid,“Soyouthink—”
Parmintersaidswiftly,“Yes.Don’tyou?”
“Couldbe.MonkswellManor—nowwhere—Doyouknow,sir,IcouldswearI’veseenthatnamequitelately.”
“Where?”
“That’swhatI’mtryingtoremember.Waitaminute—Newspaper—Times.Backpage.Waitaminute—Hotelsandboardinghouses—Halfasec,sir—it’sanoldone.Iwasdoingthecrossword.”
Hehurriedoutoftheroomandreturnedintriumph,“Hereyouare,sir,look.”
Theinspectorfollowedthepointingfinger.
“MonkswellManor,Harpleden,Berks.”Hedrewthetelephonetowardhim.“GetmetheBerkshireCountypolice.”
WiththearrivalofMajorMetcalf,MonkswellManorsettledintoitsroutineasagoingconcern.MajorMetcalfwasneitherformidablelikeMrs.Boyle,norerraticlikeChristopherWren.Hewasastolid,middle-agedmanofsprucemilitaryappearance,whohaddonemostofhisserviceinIndia.Heappearedsatisfiedwithhisroomanditsfurniture,andwhileheandMrs.Boyledidnotactuallyfindmutualfriends,hehadknowncousinsoffriendsofhers—“theYorkshirebranch,”outinPoonah.Hisluggage,however,twoheavypigskincases,satisfiedevenGiles’ssuspiciousnature.
Truthtotell,MollyandGilesdidnothavemuchtimeforspeculatingabouttheirguests.Betweenthem,dinnerwascooked,served,eaten,andwashedupsatisfactorily.MajorMetcalfpraisedthecoffee,andGilesandMollyretiredtobed,tiredbuttriumphant—toberousedabouttwointhemorningbythepersistentringingofabell.
“Damn,”saidGiles.“It’sthefrontdoor.Whatonearth—”
“Hurryup,”saidMolly.“Goandsee.”
Castingareproachfulglanceather,Gileswrappedhisdressinggownroundhimanddescendedthestairs.Mollyheardtheboltsbeingdrawnbackandamurmurofvoicesinthehall.Presently,drivenbycuriosity,shecreptoutofbedandwenttopeepfromthetopofthestairs.Inthehallbelow,Gileswasassistingabeardedstrangeroutofasnow-coveredovercoat.Fragmentsofconversationfloateduptoher.
“Brrr.”Itwasanexplosiveforeignsound.“MyfingersaresocoldIcannotfeelthem.Andmyfeet—”Astampingsoundwasheard.
“Comeinhere.”Gilesthrewopenthelibrarydoor.“It’swarm.You’dbetterwaitherewhileIgetaroomready.”
“Iamindeedfortunate,”saidthestrangerpolitely.
Mollypeeredinquisitivelythroughthebanisters.ShesawanelderlymanwithasmallblackbeardandMephistopheleaneyebrows.Amanwhomovedwithayoungandjauntystepinspiteofthegrayathistemples.
Gilesshutthelibrarydooronhimandcamequicklyupthestairs.Mollyrosefromhercrouchingposition.
“Whoisit?”shedemanded.
Gilesgrinned.“Anotherguestfortheguesthouse.Caroverturnedinasnowdrift.Hegothimselfoutandwasmakinghiswayasbesthecould—it’sahowlingblizzardstill,listentoit—alongtheroadwhenhesawourboard.Hesaiditwaslikeananswertoprayer.”
“Youthinkhe’s—allright?”
“Darling,thisisn’tthesortofnightforahousebreakertobedoinghisrounds.”
“He’saforeigner,isn’the?”
“Yes.Hisname’sParavicini.Isawhiswallet—Iratherthinkheshoweditonpurpose—simplycrammedwithnotes.Whichroomshallwegivehim?”
“Thegreenroom.It’salltidyandready.We’lljusthavetomakeupthebed.”
“IsupposeI’llhavetolendhimpajamas.Allhisthingsareinthecar.Hesaidhehadtoclimboutthroughthewindow.”
Mollyfetchedsheets,pillowcases,andtowels.
Astheyhurriedlymadethebedup,Gilessaid,“It’scomingdownthick.We’regoingtobesnowedup,Molly,completelycutoff.Ratherexcitinginaway,isn’tit?”
“Idon’tknow,”saidMollydoubtfully.“DoyouthinkIcanmakesodabread,Giles?”
“Ofcourseyoucan.Youcanmakeanything,”saidherloyalhusband.
“I’venevertriedtomakebread.It’sthesortofthingonetakesforgranted.Itmaybeneworitmaybestalebutit’sjustsomethingthebakerbrings.Butifwe’resnoweduptherewon’tbeabaker.”
“Norabutcher,norapostman.Nonewspapers.Andprobablynotelephone.”
“Justthewirelesstellinguswhattodo?”
“Atanyratewemakeourownelectriclight.”
“Youmustruntheengineagaintomorrow.Andwemustkeepthecentralheatingwellstoked.”
“Isupposeournextlotofcokewon’tcomeinnow.We’reverylow.”
“Oh,bother.Giles,Ifeelweareinforasimplyfrightfultime.HurryupandgetPara—whateverhisnameis.I’llgobacktobed.”
MorningbroughtconfirmationofGiles’sforebodings.Snowwaspiledfivefeethigh,driftingupagainstthedoorsandwindows.Outsideitwasstillsnowing.Theworldwaswhite,silent,and—insomesubtleway—menacing.
Mrs.Boylesatatbreakfast.Therewasnooneelseinthediningroom.Attheadjoiningtable,MajorMetcalf’splacehadbeenclearedaway.Mr.Wren’stablewasstilllaidforbreakfast.Oneearlyriser,presumably,andonelateone.Mrs.Boyleherselfknewdefinitelythattherewasonlyonepropertimeforbreakfast,nineo’clock.
Mrs.Boylehadfinishedherexcellentomeletteandwaschampingtoastbetweenherstrongwhiteteeth.Shewasinagrudgingandundecidedmood.MonkswellManorwasnotatallwhatshehadimagineditwouldbe.Shehadhopedforbridge,forfadedspinsterswhomshecouldimpresswithhersocialpositionandconnections,andtowhomshecouldhintattheimportanceandsecrecyofherwarservice.
TheendofthewarhadleftMrs.Boylemarooned,asitwere,onadesertshore.Shehadalwaysbeenabusywoman,talkingfluentlyofefficiencyandorganization.Hervigoranddrivehadpreventedpeopleaskingwhethershewas,indeed,agoodorefficientorganizer.Waractivitieshadsuitedherdowntotheground.Shehadbossedpeopleandbulliedpeopleandworriedheadsofdepartmentsand,togiveherherdue,hadatnotimesparedherself.Subservientwomenhadruntoandfro,terrifiedofherslightestfrown.Andnowallthatexcitinghustlinglifewasover.Shewasbackinprivatelife,andherformerprivatelifehadvanished.Herhouse,whichhadbeenrequisitionedbythearmy,neededthoroughrepairingandredecoratingbeforeshecouldreturntoit,andthedifficultiesofdomestichelpmadeareturntoitimpracticableinanycase.Herfriendswerelargelyscatteredanddispersed.Presently,nodoubt,shewouldfindherniche,butatthemomentitwasacaseofmarkingtime.Ahoteloraboardinghouseseemedtheanswer.AndshehadchosentocometoMonkswellManor.
Shelookedroundherdisparagingly.
Mostdishonest,shesaidtoherself,nottohavetoldmetheywereonlyjuststarting.
Shepushedherplatefartherawayfromher.Thefactthatherbreakfasthadbeenexcellentlycookedandserved,withgoodcoffeeandhomemademarmalade,inacuriouswayannoyedherstillmore.Ithaddeprivedherofalegitimatecauseofcomplaint.Herbed,too,hadbeencomfortable,withembroideredsheetsandasoftpillow.Mrs.Boylelikedcomfort,butshealsolikedtofindfault.Thelatterwas,perhaps,thestrongerpassionofthetwo.
Risingmajestically,Mrs.Boyleleftthediningroom,passinginthedoorwaythatveryextraordinaryyoungmanwiththeredhair.Hewaswearingthismorningacheckedtieofvirulentgreen—awoolentie.
Preposterous,saidMrs.Boyletoherself.Quitepreposterous.
Thewayhelookedather,too,sidewaysoutofthosepaleeyesofhis—shedidn’tlikeit.Therewassomethingupsetting—unusual—aboutthatfaintlymockingglance.
Unbalancedmentally,Ishouldn’twonder,saidMrs.Boyletoherself.
Sheacknowledgedhisflamboyantbowwithaslightinclinationofherheadandmarchedintothebigdrawingroom.Comfortablechairshere,particularlythelargerose-coloredone.Shehadbettermakeitclearthatthatwastobeherchair.Shedepositedherknittingonitasaprecautionandwalkedoverandlaidahandontheradiators.Asshehadsuspected,theywereonlywarm,nothot.Mrs.Boyle’seyegleamedmilitantly.Shecouldhavesomethingtosayaboutthat.
Sheglancedoutofthewindow.Dreadfulweather—quitedreadful.Well,shewouldn’tstayherelong—notunlessmorepeoplecameandmadetheplaceamusing.
Somesnowslidofftheroofwithasoftwhooshingsound.Mrs.Boylejumped.“No,”shesaidoutloud.“Ishan’tstayherelong.”
Somebodylaughed—afaint,highchuckle.Sheturnedherheadsharply.YoungWrenwasstandinginthedoorwaylookingatherwiththatcuriousexpressionofhis.
“No,”hesaid.“Idon’tsupposeyouwill.”
MajorMetcalfwashelpingGilestoshovelawaysnowfromthebackdoor.Hewasagoodworker,andGileswasquitevociferousinhisexpressionsofgratitude
“Goodexercise,”saidMajorMetcalf.“Mustgetexerciseeveryday.Gottokeepfit,youknow.”
Sothemajorwasanexercisefiend.Gileshadfearedasmuch.Itwentwithhisdemandforbreakfastathalfpastseven.
AsthoughreadingGiles’sthoughts,themajorsaid,“Verygoodofyourmissustocookmeanearlybreakfast.Nicetogetanew-laidegg,too.”
Gileshadrisenhimselfbeforeseven,owingtotheexigenciesofhotelkeeping.HeandMollyhadhadboiledeggsandteaandhadsettoonthesittingrooms.Everythingwasspick-and-span.Gilescouldnothelpthinkingthatifhehadbeenaguestinhisownestablishment,nothingwouldhavedraggedhimoutofbedonamorningsuchasthisuntilthelastpossiblemoment.
Themajor,however,hadbeenupandbreakfasted,androamedaboutthehouse,apparentlyfullofenergyseekinganoutlet.
Well,thoughtGiles,there’splentyofsnowtoshovel.
Hethrewasidewaysglanceathiscompanion.Notaneasymantoplace,really.Hard-bitten,wellovermiddleage,somethingqueerlywatchfulabouttheeyes.Amanwhowasgivingnothingaway.GileswonderedwhyhehadcometoMonkswellManor.Demobilized,probably,andnojobtogoto.
Mr.Paravicinicamedownlate.Hehadcoffeeandapieceoftoast—afrugalContinentalbreakfast.
HesomewhatdisconcertedMollywhenshebroughtittohimbyrisingtohisfeet,bowinginanexaggeratedmanner,andexclaiming,“Mycharminghostess?Iamright,amInot?”
Mollyadmittedrathershortlythathewasright.Shewasinnomoodforcomplimentsatthishour.
“Andwhy,”shesaid,asshepiledcrockeryrecklesslyinthesink,“everybodyhastohavetheirbreakfastatadifferenttime—It’sabithard.”
Sheslungtheplatesintotherackandhurriedupstairstodealwiththebeds.ShecouldexpectnoassistancefromGilesthismorning.Hehadtoclearawaytotheboilerhouseandtothehenhouse.
Mollydidthebedsattopspeedandadmittedlyinthemostslovenlymanner,smoothingsheetsandpullingthemupasfastasshecould.
Shewasatworkonthebathswhenthetelephonerang.
Mollyfirstcursedatbeinginterrupted,thenfeltaslightfeelingofreliefthatthetelephoneatleastwasstillinaction,assherandowntoanswerit.
Shearrivedinthelibraryalittlebreathlessandliftedthereceiver.
“Yes?”
Aheartyvoicewithaslightbutpleasantcountryburrasked,“IsthatMonkswellManor?”
“MonkswellManorGuestHouse.”
“CanIspeaktoCommanderDavid,please?”
“I’mafraidhecan’tcometothetelephonejustnow,”saidMolly.“ThisisMrs.Davis.Whoisspeaking,please?”
“SuperintendentHogben,BerkshirePolice.”
Mollygaveaslightgasp.Shesaid,“Oh,yes—er—yes?”
“Mrs.Davis,ratheranurgentmatterhasarisen.Idon’twishtosayverymuchoverthetelephone,butIhavesentDetectiveSergeantTrotterouttoyou,andheshouldbethereanyminutenow.”
“Buthewon’tgethere.We’resnowedup—completelysnowedup.Theroadsareimpassable.”
Therewasnobreakintheconfidenceofthevoiceattheotherend.
“Trotterwillgettoyou,allright,”itsaid.“Andpleaseimpressuponyourhusband,Mrs.Davis,tolistenverycarefullytowhatTrotterhastotellyou,andtofollowhisinstructionsimplicitly.That’sall.”
“But,SuperintendentHogben,what—”
Buttherewasadecisiveclick.Hogbenhadclearlysaidallhehadtosayandrungoff.Mollywaggledthetelephonerestonceortwice,thengaveup.Sheturnedasthedooropened.
“Oh,Gilesdarling,thereyouare.”
Gileshadsnowonhishairandagooddealofcoalgrimeonhisface.Helookedhot.
“Whatisit,sweetheart?I’vefilledthecoalscuttlesandbroughtinthewood.I’lldothehensnextandthenhavealookattheboiler.Isthatright?What’sthematter,Molly?Youlookedscared.”
“Giles,itwasthepolice.”
“Thepolice?”Gilessoundedincredulous.
“Yes,they’resendingoutaninspectororasergeantorsomething.”
“Butwhy?Whathavewedone?”
“Idon’tknow.DoyouthinkitcouldbethattwopoundsofbutterwehadfromIreland?”
Gileswasfrowning.“Ididremembertogetthewirelesslicense,didn’tI?”
“Yes,it’sinthedesk.Giles,oldMrs.Bidlockgavemefiveofhercouponsforthatoldtweedcoatofmine.Isupposethat’swrong—butIthinkit’sperfectlyfair.I’macoatlesssowhyshouldn’tIhavethecoupons?Oh,dear,whatelseistherewe’vedone?”
“Ihadanearshavewiththecartheotherday.Butitwasdefinitelytheotherfellow’sfault.Definitely.”
“Wemusthavedonesomething,”wailedMolly.
“Thetroubleisthatpracticallyeverythingonedoesnowadaysisillegal,”saidGilesgloomily.“That’swhyonehasapermanentfeelingofguilt.ActuallyIexpectit’ssomethingtodowithrunningthisplace.Runningaguesthouseisprobablychockfullofsnagswe’veneverheardof.”
“Ithoughtdrinkwastheonlythingthatmattered.Wehaven’tgivenanyoneanythingtodrink.Otherwise,whyshouldn’twerunourownhouseanywayweplease?”
“Iknow.Itsoundsallright.ButasIsay,everything’smoreorlessforbiddennowadays.”
“Oh,dear,”sighedMolly.“Iwishwe’dneverstarted.We’regoingtobesnowedupfordays,andeverybodywillbecrossandthey’lleatallourreservesoftins—”
“Cheerup,sweetheart,”saidGiles.“We’rehavingabadbreakatthemoment,butitwillpanoutallright.”
Hekissedthetopofherheadratherabsentmindedlyand,releasingher,saidinadifferentvoice,“Youknow,Molly,cometothinkofit,itmustbesomethingprettyserioustosendapolicesergeanttrekkingouthereinallthis.”Hewavedahandtowardthesnowoutside.Hesaid,“Itmustbesomethingreallyurgent—”
Astheystaredateachother,thedooropened,andMrs.Boylecamein.
“Ah,hereyouare,Mr.Davis,”saidMrs.Boyle.“Doyouknowthecentralheatinginthedrawingroomispracticallystone-cold?”
“I’msorry,Mrs.Boyle.We’rerathershortofcokeand—”
Mrs.Boylecutinruthlessly.“Iampayingsevenguineasaweekhere—sevenguineas.AndIdonotexpecttofreeze.”
Gilesflushed.Hesaidshortly,“I’llgoandstokeitup.”
Hewentoutoftheroom,andMrs.BoyleturnedtoMolly.
“Ifyoudon’tmindmysayingso,Mrs.Davis,thatisaveryextraordinaryyoungmanyouhavestayinghere.Hismanners—andhisties—Anddoesheneverbrushhishair?”
“He’sanextremelybrilliantyoungarchitect,”saidMolly.
“Ibegyourpardon?”
“ChristopherWrenisanarchitectand—”
“Mydearyoungwoman,”snappedMrs.Boyle,“IhavenaturallyheardofSirChristopherWren.Ofcoursehewasanarchitect.HebuiltSt.Paul’s.YouyoungpeopleseemtothinkthateducationcameinwiththeEducationAct.”
“ImeantthisWren.HisnameisChristopher.Hisparentscalledhimthatbecausetheyhopedhe’dbeanarchitect.Andheis—ornearly—one,soitturnedoutallright.”
“Humph,”Mrs.Boylesnorted.“Itsoundsaveryfishystorytome.IshouldmakesomeinquiriesabouthimifIwereyou.Whatdoyouknowabouthim?”
“JustasmuchasIknowaboutyou,Mrs.Boyle—whichisthatbothyouandhearepayingussevenguineasaweek.That’sreallyallthatIneedtoknow,isn’tit?Andallthatconcernsme.Itdoesn’tmattertomewhetherIlikemyguests,orwhether—”MollylookedverysteadilyatMrs.Boyle—“orwhetherIdon’t.”
Mrs.Boyleflushedangrily.“Youareyoungandinexperiencedandshouldwelcomeadvicefromsomeonemoreknowledgeablethanyourself.Andwhataboutthisqueerforeigner?Whendidhearrive?”
“Inthemiddleofthenight.”
“Indeed.Mostpeculiar.Notaveryconventionalhour.”
“Toturnawaybonafidetravelerswouldbeagainstthelaw,Mrs.Boyle.”Mollyaddedsweetly.“Youmaynotbeawareofthat.”
“AllIcansayisthatthisParavicini,orwhateverhecallshimself,seemstome—”
“Beware,beware,dearlady.Youtalkofthedevilandthen—”
Mrs.Boylejumpedasthoughithadbeenindeedthedevilwhoaddressedher.Mr.Paravicini,whohadmincedquietlyinwithouteitherofthetwowomennoticinghim,laughedandrubbedhishandstogetherwithakindofelderlysatanicglee.
“Youstartledme,”saidMrs.Boyle.“Ididnothearyoucomein.”
“Icomeinontiptoe,so,”saidMr.Paravicini,“nobodyeverhearsmecomeandgo.ThatIfindveryamusing.SometimesIoverhearthings.That,too,amusesme.”Headdedsoftly,“ButIdonotforgetwhatIhear.”
Mrs.Boylesaidratherfeebly,“Indeed?Imustgetmyknitting—Ileftitinthedrawingroom.”
Shewentouthurriedly.MollystoodlookingatMr.Paraviciniwithapuzzledexpression.Heapproachedherwithakindofhopandskip.
“Mycharminghostesslooksupset.”Beforeshecouldpreventit,hepickedupherhandandkissedit.“Whatisit,dearlady?”
Mollydrewbackastep.ShewasnotsurethatshelikedMr.Paravicinimuch.Hewasleeringatherlikeanelderlysatyr.
“Everythingisratherdifficultthismorning,”shesaidlightly.“Becauseofthesnow.”
“Yes.”Mr.Paraviciniturnedhisheadroundtolookoutofthewindow.“Snowmakeseverythingverydifficult,doesitnot?Orelseitmakesthingsveryeasy.”
“Idon’tknowwhatyoumean.”
“No,”hesaidthoughtfully.“Thereisquitealotthatyoudonotknow.Ithink,foronething,thatyoudonotknowverymuchaboutrunningaguesthouse.”
Molly’schinwentupbelligerently.“Idaresaywedon’t.Butwemeantomakeagoofit.”
“Bravo,bravo.”
“Afterall,”Molly’svoicebetrayedslightanxiety,“I’mnotsuchaverybadcook—”
“Youare,withoutdoubt,anenchantingcook,”saidMr.Paravicini.
Whatanuisanceforeignerswere,thoughtMolly.
PerhapsMr.Paravicinireadherthoughts.Atalleventshismannerchanged.Hespokequietlyandquiteseriously.
“MayIgiveyoualittlewordofwarning,Mrs.Davis?Youandyourhusbandmustnotbetootrusting,youknow.Haveyoureferenceswiththeseguestsofyours?”
“Isthatusual?”Mollylookedtroubled.“Ithoughtpeoplejust—justcame.”
“Itisadvisablealwaystoknowalittleaboutthepeoplewhosleepunderyourroof.”Heleanedforwardandtappedherontheshoulderinaminatorykindofway.“Takemyself,forexample.Iturnupinthemiddleofthenight.Mycar,Isay,isoverturnedinasnowdrift.Whatdoyouknowofme?Nothingatall.Perhapsyouknownothing,either,ofyourotherguests.”
“Mrs.Boyle—”beganMolly,butstoppedasthatladyherselfre-enteredtheroom,knittinginhand.
“Thedrawingroomistoocold.Ishallsitinhere.”Shemarchedtowardthefireplace.
Mr.Paravicinipirouettedswiftlyaheadofher.“Allowmetopokethefireforyou.”
Mollywasstruck,asshehadbeenthenightbefore,bytheyouthfuljauntinessofhisstep.Shenoticedthathealwaysseemedcarefultokeephisbacktothelight,andnow,asheknelt,pokingthefire,shethoughtshesawthereasonforit.Mr.Paravicini’sfacewascleverlybutdecidedly“madeup.”
Sotheoldidiottriedtomakehimselflookyoungerthanhewas,didhe?Well,hedidn’tsucceed.Helookedallhisageandmore.Onlytheyouthfulwalkwasincongruous.Perhapsthat,too,hadbeencarefullycounterfeited.
ShewasbroughtbackfromspeculationtothedisagreeablerealitiesbythebriskentranceofMajorMetcalf.
“Mrs.Davis.I’mafraidthepipesofthe—er—”heloweredhisvoicemodestly,“downstairscloakroomarefrozen.”
“Oh,dear,”groanedMolly.“Whatanawfulday.Firstthepoliceandthenthepipes.”
Mr.Paravicinidroppedthepokerintothegratewithaclatter.Mrs.Boylestoppedknitting.Molly,lookingatMajorMetcalf,waspuzzledbyhissuddenstiffimmobilityandbytheindescribableexpressiononhisface.Itwasanexpressionshecouldnotplace.Itwasasthoughallemotionhadbeendrainedoutofit,leavingsomethingcarvedoutofwoodbehind.
Hesaidinashort,staccatovoice,“Police,didyousay?”
Shewasconsciousthatbehindthestiffimmobilityofhisdemeanor,someviolentemotionwasatwork.Itmighthavebeenfearoralertnessorexcitement—buttherewassomething.Thisman,shesaidtoherself,couldbedangerous.
Hesaidagain,andthistimehisvoicewasjustmildlycurious,“What’sthataboutthepolice?”
“Theyrangup,”saidMolly.“Justnow.Tosaythey’resendingasergeantouthere.”Shelookedtowardthewindow.“ButIshouldn’tthinkhe’llevergethere,”shesaidhopefully.
“Whyaretheysendingthepolicehere?”Hetookastepnearertoher,butbeforeshecouldreplythedooropened,andGilescamein.
“Thisruddycoke’smorethanhalfstones,”hesaidangrily.Thenheaddedsharply,“Isanythingthematter?”
MajorMetcalfturnedtohim.“Ihearthepolicearecomingouthere,”hesaid.“Why?”
“Oh,that’sallright,”saidGiles.“Noonecanevergetthroughinthis.Why,thedriftsarefivefeetdeep.Theroad’sallbankedup.Nobodywillgetheretoday.”
Andatthatmomenttherecamedistinctlythreeloudtapsonthewindow.
Itstartledthemall.Foramomentortwotheydidnotlocatethesound.Itcamewiththeemphasisandmenaceofaghostlywarning.Andthen,withacry,MollypointedtotheFrenchwindow.Amanwasstandingtheretappingonthepane,andthemysteryofhisarrivalwasexplainedbythefactthatheworeskis.
Withanexclamation,Gilescrossedtheroom,fumbledwiththecatch,andthrewopentheFrenchwindow.
“Thankyou,sir,”saidthenewarrival.Hehadaslightlycommon,cheerfulvoiceandawell-bronzedface.
“DetectiveSergeantTrotter,”heannouncedhimself.
Mrs.Boylepeeredathimoverherknittingwithdisfavor.
“Youcan’tbeasergeant,”shesaiddisapprovingly.
“You’retooyoung.”
Theyoungman,whowasindeedveryyoung,lookedaffrontedatthiscriticismandsaidinaslightlyannoyedtone,“I’mnotquiteasyoungasIlook,madam.”
HiseyerovedoverthegroupandpickedoutGiles.
“AreyouMr.Davis?CanIgettheseskisoffandstowthemsomewhere?”
“Ofcourse,comewithme.”
Mrs.Boylesaidacidlyasthedoortothehallclosedbehindthem,“Isupposethat’swhatwepayourpoliceforcefor,nowadays,togoroundenjoyingthemselvesatwintersports.”
ParavicinihadcomeclosetoMolly.Therewasquiteahissinhisvoiceashesaidinaquick,lowvoice,“Whydidyousendforthepolice,Mrs.Davis?”
Sherecoiledalittlebeforethesteadymalignityofhisglance.ThiswasanewMr.Paravicini.Foramomentshefeltafraid.Shesaidhelplessly,“ButIdidn’t.Ididn’t.”
AndthenChristopherWrencameexcitedlythroughthedoor,sayinginahighpenetratingwhisper,“Who’sthatmaninthehall?Wheredidhecomefrom?Soterriblyheartyandalloversnow.”
Mrs.Boyle’svoiceboomedoutovertheclickofherknittingneedles.“Youmaybelieveitornot,butthatmanisapoliceman.Apoliceman—skiing!”
Thefinaldisruptionofthelowerclasseshadcome,sohermannerseemedtosay.
MajorMetcalfmurmuredtoMolly,“Excuseme,Mrs.Davis,butmayIuseyourtelephone?”
“Ofcourse,MajorMetcalf.”
Hewentovertotheinstrument,justasChristopherWrensaidshrilly,“He’sveryhandsome,don’tyouthinkso?Ialwaysthinkpolicemenareterriblyattractive.”
“Hullo,hullo—”MajorMetcalfwasrattlingthetelephoneirritably.HeturnedtoMolly.“Mrs.Davis,thistelephoneisdead,quitedead.”
“Itwasallrightjustnow.I—”
Shewasinterrupted.ChristopherWrenwaslaughing,ahigh,shrill,almosthystericallaugh.“Sowe’requitecutoffnow.Quitecutoff.That’sfunny,isn’tit?”
“Idon’tseeanythingtolaughat,”saidMajorMetcalfstiffly.
“No,indeed,”saidMrs.Boyle.
Christopherwasstillinfitsoflaughter.“It’saprivatejokeofmyown,”hesaid.“Hsh,”heputhisfingertohislips,“thesleuthiscoming.”
GilescameinwithSergeantTrotter.Thelatterhadgotridofhisskisandbrushedoffthesnowandwasholdinginhishandalargenotebookandpencil.Hebroughtanatmosphereofunhurriedjudicialprocedurewithhim.
“Molly,”saidGiles,“SergeantTrotterwantsawordwithusalone.”
Mollyfollowedthembothoutoftheroom.
“We’llgointhestudy,”Gilessaid.
Theywentintothesmallroomatthebackofthehallwhichwasdignifiedbythatname.SergeantTrotterclosedthedoorcarefullybehindhim.
“Whathavewedone,Sergeant?”Mollydemandedplaintively.
“Done?”SergeantTrotterstaredather.Thenhesmiledbroadly.“Oh,”hesaid.“It’snothingofthatkind,madam.I’msorryifthere’sbeenamisapprehensionofanykind.No,Mrs.Davis,it’ssomethingquitedifferent.It’smoreamatterofpoliceprotection,ifyouunderstandme.”
Notunderstandinghimintheleast,theybothlookedathiminquiringly.
SergeantTrotterwentonfluently,“ItrelatestothedeathofMrs.Lyon,Mrs.MaureenLyon,whowasmurderedinLondontwodaysago.Youmayhavereadaboutthecase.”
“Yes,”saidMolly.
“ThefirstthingIwanttoknowisifyouwereacquaintedwiththisMrs.Lyon?”
“Neverheardofher,”saidGiles,andMollymurmuredconcurrence.
“Well,that’sratherwhatweexpected.ButasamatteroffactLyonwasn’tthemurderedwoman’srealname.Shehadapolicerecord,andherfingerprintswereonfile,sowewereabletoidentifyherwithoutanydifficulty.HerrealnamewasGregg;MaureenGregg.Herlatehusband,JohnGregg,wasafarmerwhoresidedatLongridgeFarmnotveryfarfromhere.YoumayhaveheardoftheLongridgeFarmcase.”
Theroomwasverystill.Onlyonesoundbrokethestillness,asoft,unexpectedplopassnowslitheredofftheroofandfelltothegroundoutside.Itwasasecret,almostsinistersound.
Trotterwenton.“ThreeevacueechildrenwerebilletedontheGreggsatLongridgeFarmin1940.Oneofthosechildrensubsequentlydiedastheresultofcriminalneglectandill-treatment.Thecasemadequiteasensation,andtheGreggswerebothsentencedtotermsofimprisonment.Greggescapedonhiswaytoprison,hestoleacarandhadacrashwhiletryingtoevadethepolice.Hewaskilledoutright.Mrs.Greggservedhersentenceandwasreleasedtwomonthsago.”
“Andnowshe’sbeenmurdered,”saidGiles.“Whodotheythinkdidit?”
ButSergeantTrotterwasnottobehurried.“Yourememberthecase,sir?”heasked.
Gilesshookhishead.“In1940IwasamidshipmanservingintheMediterranean.”
“I—Idorememberhearingaboutit,Ithink,”saidMollyratherbreathlessly.“Butwhydoyoucometous?Whathavewetodowithit?”
“It’saquestionofyourbeingindanger,Mrs.Davis!”
“Danger?”Gilesspokeincreduously.
“It’slikethis,sir.Anotebookwaspickedupnearthesceneofthecrime.Initwerewrittentwoaddresses.ThefirstwasSeventy-FourCulverStreet.”
“Wherethewomanwasmurdered?”Mollyputin.
“Yes,Mrs.Davis.TheotheraddresswasMonkswellManor.”
“What?”Molly’stonewasincredulous.“Buthowextraordinary.”
“Yes.That’swhySuperintendentHogbenthoughtitimperativetofindoutifyouknewofanyconnectionbetweenyou,orbetweenthishouse,andtheLongridgeFarmcase.”
“There’snothing—absolutelynothing,”saidGiles.“Itmustbesomecoincidence.”
SergeantTrottersaidgently,“SuperintendentHogbendoesn’tthinkitisacoincidence.He’dhavecomehimselfifithadbeenatallpossible.Undertheweatherconditions,andasI’manexpertskier,hesentmewithinstructionstogetfullparticularsofeveryoneinthishouse,toreportbacktohimbyphone,andtotakeallmeasuresIthoughtexpedientforthesafetyofthehousehold.”
Gilessaidsharply,“Safety?GoodLord,man,youdon’tthinksomebodyisgoingtobekilledhere?”
Trottersaidapologetically,“Ididn’twanttoupsetthelady,butyes,thatisjustwhatSuperintendentHogbendoesthink.”
“Butwhatearthlyreasoncouldtherebe—”
Gilesbrokeoff,andTrottersaid,“That’sjustwhatI’mheretofindout.”
“Butthewholething’scrazy.”
“Yes,sir,butit’sbecauseit’scrazythatit’sdangerous.”
Mollysaid,“There’ssomethingmoreyouhaven’ttoldusyet,isn’tthere,Sergeant?”
“Yes,madam.Atthetopofthepageinthenotebookwaswritten,‘ThreeBlindMice.’Pinnedtothedeadwoman’sbodywasapaperwith‘Thisisthefirst’writtenonit.Andbelowitadrawingofthreemiceandabarofmusic.Themusicwasthetuneofthenurseryrhyme‘ThreeBlindMice.’”
Mollysangsoftly:
“ThreeBlindMice,Seehowtheyrun.Theyallranafterthefarmer’swife!She—”
Shebrokeoff.“Oh,it’shorrible—horrible.Therewerethreechildren,weren’tthere?”
“Yes,Mrs.Davis.Aboyoffifteen,agirloffourteen,andtheboyoftwelvewhodied.”
“Whathappenedtotheothers?”
“Thegirlwas,Ibelieve,adoptedbysomeone.Wehaven’tbeenabletotraceher.Theboywouldbejustontwenty-threenow.We’velosttrackofhim.Hewassaidtohavealwaysbeenabit—queer.Hejoinedupinthearmyateighteen.Laterhedeserted.Sincethenhe’sdisappeared.Thearmypsychiatristsaysdefinitelythathe’snotnormal.”
“YouthinkthatitwashewhokilledMrs.Lyon?”Gilesasked.“Andthathe’sahomicidalmaniacandmayturnuphereforsomeunknownreason?”
“WethinkthattheremustbeaconnectionbetweensomeonehereandtheLongridgeFarmbusiness.Oncewecanestablishwhatthatconnectionis,wewillbeforearmed.Nowyoustate,sir,thatyouyourselfhavenoconnectionwiththatcase.Thesamegoesforyou,Mrs.Davis?”
“I—oh,yes—yes.”
“Perhapsyouwilltellmeexactlywhoelsethereisinthehouse?”
Theygavehimthenames.Mrs.Boyle.MajorMetcalf.Mr.ChristopherWren.Mr.Paravicini.Hewrotethemdowninhisnotebook.
“Servants?”
“Wehaven’tanyservants,”saidMolly.“Andthatremindsme,Imustgoandputthepotatoeson.”
Sheleftthestudyabruptly.
TrotterturnedtoGiles.“Whatdoyouknowaboutthesepeople,sir?”
“I—We—”Gilespaused.Thenhesaidquietly,“Really,wedon’tknowanythingaboutthem,SergeantTrotter.Mrs.BoylewrotefromaBournemouthhotel.MajorMetcalffromLeamington.Mr.WrenfromaprivatehotelinSouthKensington.Mr.Paravicinijustturnedupoutoftheblue—orratheroutofthewhite—hiscaroverturnedinasnowdriftnearhere.Still,Isupposethey’llhaveidentitycards,rationbooks,thatsortofthing?”
“Ishallgointoallthat,ofcourse.”
“Inawayit’sluckythattheweatherissoawful,”saidGiles.“Themurderercan’tverywellturnupinthis,canhe?”
“Perhapshedoesn’tneedto,Mr.Davis.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
SergeantTrotterhesitatedforamomentandthenhesaid,“You’vegottoconsider,sir,thathemaybeherealready.”
Gilesstaredathim.
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Mrs.Greggwaskilledtwodaysago.Allyourvisitorsherehavearrivedsincethen,Mr.Davis.”
“Yes,butthey’dbookedbeforehand—sometimebeforehand—exceptforParavicini.”
SergeantTrottersighed.Hisvoicesoundedtired.“Thesecrimeswereplannedinadvance.”
“Crimes?Butonlyonecrimehashappenedyet.Whyareyousurethattherewillbeanother?”
“Thatitwillhappen—no.Ihopetopreventthat.Thatitwillbeattempted,yes.”
“Butthen—ifyou’reright,”Gilesspokeexcitedly,“there’sonlyonepersonitcouldbe.There’sonlyonepersonwho’stherightage.ChristopherWren!”
SergeantTrotterhadjoinedMollyinthekitchen.
“I’dbeglad,Mrs.Davis,ifyouwouldcomewithmetothelibrary.Iwanttomakeageneralstatementtoeveryone.Mr.Davishaskindlygonetopreparetheway—”
“Allright—justletmefinishthesepotatoes.SometimesIwishSirWalterRaleighhadneverdiscoveredthebeastlythings.”
SergeantTrotterpreservedadisapprovingsilence.Mollysaidapologetically,“Ican’treallybelieveit,yousee—It’ssofantastic—”
“Itisn’tfantastic,Mrs.Davis—It’sjustplainfacts.”
“Youhaveadescriptionoftheman?”Mollyaskedcuriously.
“Mediumheight,slightbuild,woreadarkovercoatandalighthat,spokeinawhisper,hisfacewashiddenbyamuffler.Yousee—thatmightbeanybody.”Hepausedandadded,“Therearethreedarkovercoatsandlighthatshangingupinyourhallhere,Mrs.Davis.”
“Idon’tthinkanyofthesepeoplecamefromLondon.”
“Didn’tthey,Mrs.Davis?”WithaswiftmovementSergeantTrottermovedtothedresserandpickedupanewspaper.
“TheEveningStandardofFebruary19th.Twodaysago.Someonebroughtthatpaperhere,Mrs.Davis.”
“Buthowextraordinary.”Mollystared,somefaintchordofmemorystirred.“Wherecanthatpaperhavecomefrom?”
“Youmustn’ttakepeoplealwaysattheirfacevalue,Mrs.Davis.Youdon’treallyknowanythingaboutthesepeopleyouhaveadmittedtoyourhouse.”Headded,“ItakeityouandMr.Davisarenewtotheguesthousebusiness?”
“Yes,weare,”Mollyadmitted.Shefeltsuddenlyyoung,foolish,andchildish.
“Youhaven’tbeenmarriedlong,perhaps,either?”
“Justayear.”Sheblushedslightly.“Itwasallrathersudden.”
“Loveatfirstsight,”saidSergeantTrottersympathetically.
Mollyfeltquiteunabletosnubhim.“Yes,”shesaid,andaddedinaburstofconfidence,“we’donlyknowneachotherafortnight.”
Herthoughtswentbackoverthosefourteendaysofwhirlwindcourtship.Therehadn’tbeenanydoubts—theyhadbothknown.Inaworrying,nerve-rackedworld,theyhadfoundthemiracleofeachother.Alittlesmilecametoherlips.
ShecamebacktothepresenttofindSergeantTrottereyingherindulgently.
“Yourhusbanddoesn’tcomefromtheseparts,doeshe?”
“No,”saidMollyvaguely.“HecomesfromLincolnshire.”
SheknewverylittleofGiles’schildhoodandupbringing.Hisparentsweredead,andhealwaysavoidedtalkingabouthisearlydays.Hehadhad,shefancied,anunhappychildhood.
“You’rebothveryyoung,ifImaysayso,torunaplaceofthiskind,”saidSergeantTrotter.
“Oh,Idon’tknow.I’mtwenty-twoand—”
ShebrokeoffasthedooropenedandGilescamein.
“Everything’sallset.I’vegiventhemaroughoutline,”hesaid.“Ihopethat’sallright,Sergeant?”
“Savestime,”saidTrotter.“Areyouready,Mrs.Davis?”
FourvoicesspokeatonceasSergeantTrotterenteredthelibrary.
HighestandshrillestwasthatofChristopherWrendeclaringthatthiswastoo,toothrillingandhewasn’tgoingtosleepawinktonight,andplease,pleasecouldwehaveallthegorydetails?
Akindofdouble-bassaccompanimentcamefromMrs.Boyle.“Absoluteoutrage—sheerincompetence—policehavenobusinesstoletmurderersgoroamingaboutthecountryside.”
Mr.Paraviciniwaseloquentchieflywithhishands.Hisgesticulationsweremoreeloquentthanhiswords,whichweredrownedbyMrs.Boyle’sdoublebass.MajorMetcalfcouldbeheardinanoccasionalshortstaccatobark.Hewasaskingforfacts.
Trotterwaitedamomentortwo,thenheheldupanauthoritativehandand,rathersurprisingly,therewassilence.
“Thankyou,”hesaid.“Now,Mr.DavishasgivenyouanoutlineofwhyI’mhere.Iwanttoknowonething,andonethingonly,andIwanttoknowitquick.WhichofyouhassomeconnectionwiththeLongridgeFarmcase?”
Thesilencewasunbroken.FourblankfaceslookedatSergeantTrotter.Theemotionsofafewmomentsback—excitement,indignation,hysteria,inquiry,werewipedawayasaspongewipesoutthechalkmarksonaslate.
SergeantTrotterspokeagain,moreurgently.“Pleaseunderstandme.Oneofyou,wehavereasontobelieve,isindanger—deadlydanger.Ihavegottoknowwhichoneofyouitis!”
Andstillnoonespokeormoved.
SomethinglikeangercameintoTrotter’svoice.“Verywell—I’llaskyouonebyone.Mr.Paravicini?”
AveryfaintsmileflickeredacrossMr.Paravicini’sface.Heraisedhishandsinaprotestingforeigngesture.
“ButIamastrangerintheseparts,Inspector.Iknownothing,butnothing,oftheselocalaffairsofbygoneyears.”
Trotterwastednotime.Hesnappedout,“Mrs.Boyle?”
“ReallyIdon’tseewhy—Imean—whyshouldIhaveanythingtodowithsuchadistressingbusiness?”
“Mr.Wren?”
Christophersaidshrilly,“Iwasamerechildatthetime.Idon’trememberevenhearingaboutit.”
“MajorMetcalf?”
TheMajorsaidabruptly,“Readaboutitinthepapers.IwasstationedatEdinburghatthetime.”
“That’sallyouhavetosay—anyofyou?”
Silenceagain.
Trottergaveanexasperatedsigh.“Ifoneofyougetsmurdered,”hesaid,“you’llonlyhaveyourselftoblame.”Heturnedabruptlyandwentoutoftheroom.
“Mydears,”saidChristopher.“Howmelodramatic!”Headded,“He’sveryhandsome,isn’the?Idoadmirethepolice.Sosternandhard-boiled.Quiteathrill,thiswholebusiness.‘ThreeBlindMice.’Howdoesthetunego?”
Hewhistledtheairsoftly,andMollycriedoutinvoluntarily,“Don’t!”
Hewhirledroundonherandlaughed.“But,darling,”hesaid,“it’smysignaturetune.I’veneverbeentakenforamurdererbeforeandI’mgettingatremendouskickoutofit!”
“Melodramaticrubbish,”saidMrs.Boyle.“Idon’tbelieveawordofit.”
Christopher’slighteyesdancedwithanimpishmischief.“Butjustwait,Mrs.Boyle,”heloweredhisvoice,“tillIcreepupbehindyouandyoufeelmyhandsroundyourthroat.”
Mollyflinched.
Gilessaidangrily,“You’reupsettingmywife,Wren.It’sadamnedpoorjoke,anyway.”
“It’snojokingmatter,”saidMetcalf.
“Oh,butitis,”saidChristopher.“That’sjustwhatitis—amadman’sjoke.That’swhatmakesitsodeliciouslymacabre.”
Helookedroundatthemandlaughedagain.“Ifyoucouldjustseeyourfaces,”hesaid.
Thenhewentswiftlyoutoftheroom.
Mrs.Boylerecoveredfirst.“Asingularlyill-manneredandneuroticyoungman,”shesaid.“Probablyaconscientiousobjector.”
“Hetellsmehewasburiedduringanairraidforforty-eighthoursbeforebeingdugout,”saidMajorMetcalf.“Thataccountsforagooddeal,Idaresay.”
“Peoplehavesomanyexcusesforgivingwaytonerves,”saidMrs.Boyleacidly.“I’msureIwentthroughasmuchasanybodyinthewar,andmynervesareallright.”
“Perhapsthat’sjustaswellforyou,Mrs.Boyle,”saidMetcalf.
“Whatdoyoumean?”
MajorMetcalfsaidquietly,“Ithinkyouwereactuallythebilletingofficerforthisdistrictin1940,Mrs.Boyle.”HelookedatMollywhogaveagravenod.“Thatisso,isn’tit?”
AnangryflushappearedonMrs.Boyle’sface.“Whatofit?”shedemanded.
Metcalfsaidgravely,“YouwereresponsibleforsendingthreechildrentoLongridgeFarm.”
“Really,MajorMetcalf,Idon’tseehowIcanbeheldresponsibleforwhathappened.TheFarmpeopleseemedveryniceandweremostanxioustohavethechildren.Idon’tseethatIwastoblameinanyway—orthatIcanbeheldresponsible—”Hervoicetrailedoff.
Gilessaidsharply,“Whydidn’tyoutellSergeantTrotterthis?”
“Nobusinessofthepolice,”snappedMrs.Boyle.“Icanlookaftermyself.”
MajorMetcalfsaidquietly,“You’dbetterwatchout.”
Thenhe,too,lefttheroom.
Mollymurmured,“Ofcourse,youwerethebilletingofficer.Iremember.”
“Molly,didyouknow?”Gilesstaredather.
“Youhadthebighouseonthecommon,didn’tyou?”
“Requisitioned,”saidMrs.Boyle.“Andcompletelyruined,”sheaddedbitterly.“Devastated.Iniquitous.”
Then,verysoftly,Mr.Paravicinibegantolaugh.Hethrewhisheadbackandlaughedwithoutrestraint.
“Youmustforgiveme,”hegasped.“But,indeed,Ifindallthismostamusing.Ienjoymyself—yes,Ienjoymyselfgreatly.”
SergeantTrotterre-enteredtheroomatthatmoment.HethrewaglanceofdisapprovalatMr.Paravicini.“I’mglad,”hesaidacidly,“thateveryonefindsthissofunny.”
“Iapologize,mydearInspector.Idoapologize.Iamspoilingtheeffectofyoursolemnwarning.”
SergeantTrottershruggedhisshoulders.“I’vedonemybesttomakethepositionclear,”hesaid.“AndI’mnotaninspector.I’monlyasergeant.I’dliketousethetelephone,please,Mrs.Davis.”
“Iabasemyself,”saidMr.Paravicini.“Icreepaway.”
Farfromcreeping,helefttheroomwiththatjauntyandyouthfulstepthatMollyhadnoticedbefore.
“He’sanoddfish,”saidGiles.
“Criminaltype,”saidTrotter.“Wouldn’ttrusthimayard.”
“Oh,”saidMolly.“Youthinkhe—buthe’sfartooold—Orisheoldatall?Heusesmakeup—quitealotofit.Andhiswalkisyoung.Perhaps,he’smadeuptolookold.SergeantTrotter,doyouthink—”
SergeantTrottersnubbedherseverely.“Weshan’tgetanywherewithunprofitablespeculation,Mrs.Davis,”hesaid.“ImustreporttoSuperintendentHogben.”
Hecrossedtothetelephone.
“Butyoucan’t,”saidMolly.“Thetelephone’sdead.”
“What?”Trotterswunground.
Thesharpalarminhisvoiceimpressedthemall.“Dead?Sincewhen?”
“MajorMetcalftrieditjustbeforeyoucame.”
“Butitwasallrightbeforethat.YougotSuperintendentHogben’smessage?”
“Yes.Isuppose—sinceten—theline’sdown—withthesnow.”
ButTrotter’sfaceremainedgrave.“Iwonder,”hesaid.“Itmayhavebeen—cut.”
Mollystared.“Youthinkso?”
“I’mgoingtomakesure.”
Hehurriedoutoftheroom.Gileshesitated,thenwentafterhim.
Mollyexclaimed,“Goodheavens!Nearlylunchtime,Imustgeton—orwe’llhavenothingtoeat.”
Assherushedfromtheroom,Mrs.Boylemuttered,“Incompetentchit!Whataplace.Ishan’tpaysevenguineasforthiskindofthing.”
SergeantTrotterbentdown,followingthewires.HeaskedGiles,“Isthereanextension?”
“Yes,inourbedroomupstairs.ShallIgoupandseethere?”
“Ifyouplease.”
Trotteropenedthewindowandleanedout,brushingsnowfromthesill.Gileshurriedupthestairs.
Mr.Paraviciniwasinthebigdrawingroom.Hewentacrosstothegrandpianoandopenedit.Sittingonthemusicstool,hepickedoutatunesoftlywithonefinger.
ThreeBlindMice,Seehowtheyrun….
ChristopherWrenwasinhisbedroom.Hemovedaboutit,whistlingbriskly.Suddenlythewhistlewaveredanddied.Hesatdownontheedgeofthebed.Heburiedhisfaceinhishandsandbegantosob.Hemurmuredchildishly,“Ican’tgoon.”
Thenhismoodchanged.Hestoodup,squaredhisshoulders.“I’vegottogoon,”hesaid.“I’vegottogothroughwithit.”
GilesstoodbythetelephoneinhisandMolly’sroom.Hebentdowntowardtheskirting.OneofMolly’sgloveslaythere.Hepickeditup.Apinkbusticketdroppedoutofit.Gilesstoodlookingdownatitasitflutteredtotheground.Watchingit,hisfacechanged.Itmighthavebeenadifferentmanwhowalkedslowly,asthoughinadream,tothedoor,openedit,andstoodamomentpeeringalongthecorridortowardtheheadofthestairs.
Mollyfinishedthepotatoes,threwthemintothepot,andsetthepotonthefire.Sheglancedintotheoven.Everythingwasallset,goingaccordingtoplan.
Onthekitchentablewasthetwo-day-oldcopyoftheEveningStandard.Shefrownedasshelookedatit.Ifshecouldonlyjustremember—
Suddenlyherhandswenttohereyes.“Oh,no,”saidMolly.“Oh,no!”
Slowlyshetookherhandsaway.Shelookedroundthekitchenlikesomeonelookingatastrangeplace.Sowarmandcomfortableandspacious,withitsfaintsavorysmellofcooking.
“Oh,no,”shesaidagainunderherbreath.
Shemovedslowly,likeasleepwalker,towardthedoorintothehall.Sheopenedit.Thehousewassilentexceptforsomeonewhistling.
Thattune—
Mollyshiveredandretreated.Shewaitedaminuteortwo,glancingoncemoreroundthefamiliarkitchen.Yes,everythingwasinorderandprogressing.Shewentoncemoretowardthekitchendoor.
MajorMetcalfcamequietlydownthebackstairs.Hewaitedamomentortwointhehall,thenheopenedthebigcupboardunderthestairsandpeeredin.Everythingseemedquiet.Nobodyabout.Asgoodatimeasanytodowhathehadsetouttodo—
Mrs.Boyle,inthelibrary,turnedtheknobsoftheradiowithsomeirritation
Herfirstattempthadbroughtherintothemiddleofatalkontheoriginandsignificanceofnurseryrhymes.Thelastthingshewantedtohear.Twirlingimpatiently,shewasinformedbyaculturedvoice:“Thepsychologyoffearmustbethoroughlyunderstood.Sayyouarealoneinaroom.Adooropenssoftlybehindyou—”
Adoordidopen.
Mrs.Boyle,withaviolentstart,turnedsharply.“Oh,it’syou,”shesaidwithrelief.“Idioticprogramstheyhaveonthisthing.Ican’tfindanythingworthlisteningto!”
“Ishouldn’tbothertolisten,Mrs.Boyle.”
Mrs.Boylesnorted.“Whatelseisthereformetodo?”shedemanded.“Shutupinahousewithapossiblemurderer—notthatIbelievethatmelodramaticstoryforamoment—”
“Don’tyou,Mrs.Boyle?”
“Why—whatdoyoumean—”
Thebeltoftheraincoatwasslippedroundhernecksoquicklythatshehardlyrealizeditssignificance.Theknoboftheradioamplifierwasturnedhigher.ThelectureronthepsychologyoffearshoutedhislearnedremarksintotheroomanddrownedwhatincidentalnoisestherewereattendantonMrs.Boyle’sdemise.
Buttherewasn’tmuchnoise.
Thekillerwastooexpertforthat.
Theywereallhuddledinthekitchen.Onthegascookerthepotatoesbubbledmerrily.Thesavorysmellfromtheovenofsteakandkidneypiewasstrongerthanever.
Fourshakenpeoplestaredateachother,thefifth,Molly,whiteandshivering,sippedattheglassofwhiskythatthesixth,SergeantTrotter,hadforcedhertodrink.
SergeantTrotterhimself,hisfacesetandangry,lookedroundattheassembledpeople.JustfiveminuteshadelapsedsinceMolly’sterrifiedscreamshadbroughthimandtheothersracingtothelibrary.
“She’donlyjustbeenkilledwhenyougottoher,Mrs.Davis,”hesaid.“Areyousureyoudidn’tseeorhearanybodyasyoucameacrossthehall?”
“Whistling,”saidMollyfaintly.“Butthatwasearlier.Ithink—I’mnotsure—IthinkIheardadoorshut—softly,somewhere—justasI—asI—wentintothelibrary.”
“Whichdoor?”
“Idon’tknow.”
“Think,Mrs.Davis—tryandthink—upstairs—downstairs—right,left?”
“Idon’tknow,Itellyou,”criedMolly.“I’mnotevensureIheardanything.”
“Can’tyoustopbullyingher?”saidGilesangrily.“Can’tyouseeshe’sallin?”
“I’minvestigatingamurder,Mr.Davis—Ibegyourpardon—CommanderDavis.”
“Idon’tusemywarrank,Sergeant.”
“Quiteso,sir.”Trotterpaused,asthoughhehadmadesomesubtlepoint.“AsIsay,I’minvestigatingamurder.Uptonownobodyhastakenthisthingseriously.Mrs.Boyledidn’t.Sheheldoutonmewithinformation.Youallheldoutonme.Well,Mrs.Boyleisdead.Unlesswegettothebottomofthis—andquickly,mind,theremaybeanotherdeath.”
“Another?Nonsense.Why?”
“Because,”saidSergeantTrottergravely,“therewerethreelittleblindmice.”
Gilessaidincredulously,“Adeathforeachofthem?Buttherewouldhavetobeaconnection—Imeananotherconnectionwiththecase.”
“Yes,therewouldhavetobethat.”
“Butwhyanotherdeathhere?”
“Becausetherewereonlytwoaddressesinthenotebook.TherewasonlyonepossiblevictimatSeventy-FourCulverStreet.She’sdead.ButatMonkswellManorthereisawiderfield.”
“Nonsense,Trotter.Itwouldbeamostunlikelycoincidencethatthereshouldbetwopeoplebroughtherebychance,bothofthemwithashareintheLongridgeFarmcase.”
“Givencertaincircumstances,itwouldn’tbesomuchofacoincidence.Thinkitout,Mr.Davis.”Heturnedtowardtheothers.“I’vehadyouraccountsofwhereyouallwerewhenMrs.Boylewaskilled.I’llcheckthemover.Youwereinyourroom,Mr.Wren,whenyouheardMrs.Davisscream?”
“Yes,Sergeant.”
“Mr.Davis,youwereupstairsinyourbedroomexaminingthetelephoneextensionthere?”
“Yes,”saidGiles.
“Mr.Paraviciniwasinthedrawingroomplayingtunesonthepiano.Nobodyheardyou,bytheway,Mr.Paravicini?”
“Iwasplayingvery,verysoftly,Sergeant,justwithonefinger.”
“Whattunewasit?”
“‘ThreeBlindMice,’Sergeant.”Hesmiled.“ThesametunethatMr.Wrenwaswhistlingupstairs.Thetunethat’srunningthrougheverybody’shead.”
“It’sahorridtune,”saidMolly.
“Howaboutthetelephonewire?”askedMetcalf.“Wasitdeliberatelycut?”
“Yes,MajorMetcalf.Asectionhadbeencutoutjustoutsidethediningroomwindow—IhadjustlocatedthebreakwhenMrs.Davisscreamed.”
“Butit’scrazy.Howcanhehopetogetawaywithit?”demandedChristophershrilly.
Thesergeantmeasuredhimcarefullywithhiseye.
“Perhapshedoesn’tverymuchcareaboutthat,”hesaid.“Oragain,hemaybequitesurehe’stoocleverforus.Murderersgetlikethat.”Headded,“Wetakeapsychologycourse,youknow,inourtraining.Aschizophrenic’smentalityisveryinteresting.”
“Shallwecutoutthelongwords?”saidGiles.
“Certainly,Mr.Davis.Twosix-letterwordsareallthatconcernusatthemoment.One’s‘murder’andtheother’s‘danger.’That’swhatwe’vegottoconcentrateupon.Now,MajorMetcalf,letmebequiteclearaboutyourmovements.Yousayyouwereinthecellar—Why?”
“Lookingaround,”saidthemajor.“IlookedinthatcupboardplaceunderthestairsandthenInoticedadoorthereandIopeneditandsawaflightofsteps,soIwentdownthere.Nicecellaryou’vegot,”hesaidtoGiles.“Cryptofanoldmonastery,Ishouldsay.”
“We’renotengagedinantiquarianresearch,MajorMetcalf.We’reinvestigatingamurder.Willyoulistenamoment,Mrs.Davis?I’llleavethekitchendooropen.”Hewentout;adoorshutwithafaintcreak.“Isthatwhatyouheard,Mrs.Davis?”heaskedashereappearedintheopendoorway.
“I—itdoessoundlikeit.”
“Thatwasthecupboardunderthestairs.Itcouldbe,youknow,thatafterkillingMrs.Boyle,themurderer,retreatingacrossthehall,heardyoucomingoutofthekitchen,andslippedintothecupboard,pullingthedoortoafterhim.”
“Thenhisfingerprintswillbeontheinsideofthecupboard,”criedChristopher.
“Minearetherealready,”saidMajorMetcalf.
“Quiteso,”saidSergeantTrotter.“Butwe’veasatisfactoryexplanationforthose,haven’twe?”headdedsmoothly.
“Lookhere,Sergeant,”saidGiles,“admittedlyyou’reinchargeofthisaffair.Butthisismyhouse,andinacertaindegreeIfeelresponsibleforthepeoplestayinginit.Oughtn’twetotakeprecautionarymeasures?”
“Suchas,Mr.Davis?”
“Well,tobefrank,puttingunderrestraintthepersonwhoseemsprettyclearlyindicatedasthechiefsuspect.”
HelookedstraightatChristopherWren.
ChristopherWrensprangforward,hisvoicerose,shrillandhysterical.“It’snottrue!It’snottrue!You’reallagainstme.Everyone’salwaysagainstme.You’regoingtoframemeforthis.It’spersecution—persecution—”
“Steadyon,lad,”saidMajorMetcalf.
“It’sallright,Chris.”Mollycameforward.Sheputherhandonhisarm.“Nobody’sagainstyou.Tellhimit’sallright,”shesaidtoSergeantTrotter.
“Wedon’tframepeople,”saidSergeantTrotter.
“Tellhimyou’renotgoingtoarresthim.”
“I’mnotgoingtoarrestanyone.Todothat,Ineedevidence.There’snoevidence—atpresent.”
Gilescriedout,“Ithinkyou’recrazy,Molly.Andyou,too,Sergeant.There’sonlyonepersonwhofitsthebill,and—”
“Wait,Giles,wait—”Mollybrokein.“Oh,dobequiet.SergeantTrotter,canI—canIspeaktoyouaminute?”
“I’mstaying,”saidGiles.
“No,Giles,you,too,please.”
Giles’sfacegrewasdarkasthunder.Hesaid,“Idon’tknowwhat’scomeoveryou,Molly.”
Hefollowedtheothersoutoftheroom,bangingthedoorbehindhim.
“Yes,Mrs.Davis,whatisit?”
“SergeantTrotter,whenyoutoldusabouttheLongridgeFarmcase,youseemedtothinkthatitmustbetheeldestboywhois—responsibleforallthis.Butyoudon’tknowthat?”
“That’sperfectlytrue,Mrs.Davis.Buttheprobabilitiesliethatway—mentalinstability,desertionfromthearmy,psychiatrist’sreport.”
“Oh,Iknow,andthereforeitallseemstopointtoChristopher.ButIdon’tbelieveitisChristopher.Theremustbeother—possibilities.Hadn’tthosethreechildrenanyrelations—parents,forinstance?”
“Yes.Themotherwasdead.Butthefatherwasservingabroad.”
“Well,whatabouthim?Whereishenow?”
“We’venoinformation.Heobtainedhisdemobilizationpaperslastyear.”
“Andifthesonwasmentallyunstable,thefathermayhavebeen,too.”
“Thatisso.”
“Sothemurderermaybemiddle-agedorold.MajorMetcalf,remember,wasfrightfullyupsetwhenItoldhimthepolicehadrungup.Hereallywas.”
SergeantTrottersaidquietly,“Pleasebelieveme,Mrs.Davis,I’vehadallthepossibilitiesinmindsincethebeginning.Theboy,Jim—thefather—eventhesister.Itcouldhavebeenawoman,youknow.Ihaven’toverlookedanything.Imaybeprettysureinmyownmind—butIdon’tknow—yet.It’sveryhardreallytoknowaboutanythingoranyone—especiallyinthesedays.You’dbesurprisedwhatweseeinthepoliceforce.Withmarriages,especially.Hastymarriages—warmarriages.There’snobackground,yousee.Nofamiliesorrelationstomeet.Peopleaccepteachother’sword.Fellowsayshe’safighterpilotoranarmymajor—thegirlbelieveshimimplicitly.Sometimesshedoesn’tfindoutforayearortwothathe’sanabscondingbankclerkwithawifeandfamily,oranarmydeserter.”
Hepausedandwenton.
“Iknowquitewellwhat’sinyourmind,Mrs.Davis.There’sjustonethingI’dliketosaytoyou.Themurderer’senjoyinghimself.That’stheonethingI’mquitesureof.”
Hewenttowardthedoor.
Mollystoodverystraightandstill,aredflushburninginhercheeks.Afterstandingrigidforamomentortwo,shemovedslowlytowardthestove,kneltdown,andopenedtheovendoor.Asavory,familiarsmellcametowardher.Herheartlightened.Itwasasthoughsuddenlyshehadbeenwaftedbackintothedear,familiarworldofeverydaythings.Cooking,housework,homemaking,ordinaryprosaicliving.
So,fromtimeimmemorialwomenhadcookedfoodfortheirmen.Theworldofdanger—ofmadness,receded.Woman,inherkitchen,wassafe—eternallysafe.
Thekitchendooropened.SheturnedherheadasChristopherWrenentered.Hewasalittlebreathless.
“Mydear,”hesaid.“Suchructions!Somebody’sstolenthesergeant’sskis!”
“Thesergeant’sskis?Butwhyshouldanyonewanttodothat?”
“Ireallycan’timagine.Imean,ifthesergeantdecidedtogoawayandleaveus,Ishouldimaginethatthemurdererwouldbeonlytoopleased.Imean,itreallydoesn’tmakesense,doesit?”
“Gilesputtheminthecupboardunderthestairs.”
“Well,they’renottherenow.Intriguing,isn’tit?”Helaughedgleefully.“Thesergeant’sawfullyangryaboutit.Snappinglikeaturtle.He’sbeenpitchingintopoorMajorMetcalf.Theoldboystickstoitthathedidn’tnoticewhethertheywerethereornotwhenhelookedintothecupboardjustbeforeMrs.Boylewasmurdered.Trottersayshemusthavenoticed.Ifyouaskme,”Christopherloweredhisvoiceandleanedforward,“thisbusinessisbeginningtogetTrotterdown.”
“It’sgettingusalldown,”saidMolly.
“Notme.Ifinditmoststimulating.It’sallsodelightfullyunreal.”
Mollysaidsharply,“Youwouldn’tsaythatif—ifyou’dbeentheonetofindher.Mrs.Boyle,Imean.Ikeepthinkingofit—Ican’tforgetit.Herface—allswollenandpurple—”
Sheshivered.Christophercameacrosstoher.Heputahandonhershoulder.
“Iknow.I’manidiot.I’msorry.Ididn’tthink.”
AdrysobroseinMolly’sthroat.“Itseemedallrightjustnow—cooking—thekitchen,”shespokeconfusedly,incoherently.“Andthensuddenly—itwasallbackagain—likeanightmare.”
TherewasacuriousexpressiononChristopherWren’sfaceashestoodtherelookingdownonherbenthead.
“Isee,”hesaid.“Isee.”Hemovedaway.“Well,I’dbetterclearoutand—notinterruptyou.”
Mollycried,“Don’tgo!”justashishandwasonthedoorhandle.
Heturnedround,lookingatherquestioningly.Thenhecameslowlyback.
“Doyoureallymeanthat?”
“Meanwhat?”
“Youdefinitelydon’twantto—go?”
“No,Itellyou.Idon’twanttobealone.I’mafraidtobealone.”
Christophersatdownbythetable.Mollybenttotheoven,liftedthepietoahighershelf,shuttheovendoor,andcameandjoinedhim.
“That’sveryinteresting,”saidChristopherinalevelvoice.
“Whatis?”
“Thatyou’renotafraidtobe—alonewithme.You’renot,areyou?”
Sheshookherhead.“No,I’mnot.”
“Whyaren’tyouafraid,Molly?”
“Idon’tknow—I’mnot.”
“AndyetI’mtheonlypersonwho—fitsthebill.Onemurdererasperschedule.”
“No,”saidMolly.“Thereare—otherpossibilities,I’vebeentalkingtoSergeantTrotteraboutthem.”
“Didheagreewithyou?”
“Hedidn’tdisagree,”saidMollyslowly.
Certainwordssoundedoverandoveragaininherhead.Especiallythatlastphrase:Iknowexactlywhat’sinyourmind,Mrs.Davis.Butdidhe?Couldhepossiblyknow?Hehadsaid,too,thatthemurdererwasenjoyinghimself.Wasthattrue?
ShesaidtoChristopher,“You’renotexactlyenjoyingyourself,areyou?Inspiteofwhatyousaidjustnow.”
“GoodGod,no,”saidChristopher,staring.“Whataveryoddthingtosay.”
“Oh,Ididn’tsayit.SergeantTrotterdid.Ihatethatman!He—heputsthingsintoyourhead—thingsthataren’ttrue—thatcan’tpossiblybetrue.”
Sheputherhandstoherhead,coveringhereyeswiththem.VerygentlyChristophertookthosehandsaway.
“Lookhere,Molly,”hesaid,“whatisallthis?”
Shelethimforcehergentlyintoachairbythekitchentable.Hismannerwasnolongerhystericalorchildish.
“What’sthematter,Molly?”hesaid.
Mollylookedathim—alongappraisingglance.Sheaskedirrelevantly,“HowlonghaveIknownyou,Christopher?Twodays?”
“Justabout.You’rethinking,aren’tyou,thatthoughit’ssuchashorttime,weseemtoknoweachotherratherwell.”
“Yes—it’sodd,isn’tit?”
“Oh,Idon’tknow.There’sakindofsympathybetweenus.Possiblybecausewe’veboth—beenupagainstit.”
Itwasnotaquestion.Itwasastatement.Mollyletitpass.Shesaidveryquietly,andagainitwasastatementratherthanaquestion,“Yournameisn’treallyChristopherWren,isit.”
“No.”
“Whydidyou—”
“Choosethat?Oh,itseemedratherapleasantwhimsy.TheyusedtojeeratmeandcallmeChristopherRobinatschool.Robin—Wren—associationofideas,Isuppose.”
“What’syourrealname?”
Christophersaidquietly,“Idon’tthinkwe’llgointothat.Itwouldn’tmeananythingtoyou.I’mnotanarchitect.Actually,I’madeserterfromthearmy.”
JustforamomentswiftalarmleapedintoMolly’seyes.
Christophersawit.“Yes,”hesaid.“Justlikeourunknownmurderer.ItoldyouIwastheonlyonethespecificationfitted.”
“Don’tbestupid,”saidMolly.“ItoldyouIdidn’tbelieveyouwerethemurderer.Goon—tellmeaboutyourself.Whatmadeyoudesert—nerves?”
“Beingafraid,youmean?No,curiouslyenough,Iwasn’tafraid—notmorethananyoneelse,thatistosay.ActuallyIgotareputationforbeingrathercoolunderfire.No,itwassomethingquitedifferent.Itwas—mymother.”
“Yourmother?”
“Yes—yousee,shewaskilled—inanairraid.Buried.They—theyhadtodigherout.Idon’tknowwhathappenedtomewhenIheardaboutit—IsupposeIwentalittlemad.Ithought,yousee,ithappenedtome.IfeltIhadtogethomequicklyand—anddigmyselfout—Ican’texplain—itwasallconfused.”Heloweredhisheadtohishandsandspokeinamuffledvoice.“Iwanderedaboutalongtime,lookingforher—orformyself—Idon’tknowwhich.Andthen,whenmymindclearedup,Iwasafraidtogoback—ortoreport—IknewIcouldneverexplain.Sincethen,I’vejustbeen—nothing.”
Hestaredather,hisyoungfacehollowwithdespair.
“Youmustn’tfeellikethat,”saidMollygently.“Youcanstartagain.”
“Canoneeverdothat?”
“Ofcourse—you’requiteyoung.”
“Yes,butyousee—I’vecometotheend.”
“No,”saidMolly.“Youhaven’tcometotheend,youonlythinkyouhave.Ibelieveeveryonehasthatfeelingonce,atleast,intheirlives—thatit’stheend,thattheycan’tgoon.”
“You’vehadit,haven’tyou,Molly?Youmusthave—tobeabletospeaklikethat.”
“Yes.”
“Whatwasyours?”
“Minewasjustwhathappenedtoalotofpeople.Iwasengagedtoayoungfighterpilot—andhewaskilled.”
“Wasn’ttheremoretoitthanthat?”
“Isupposetherewas.I’dhadanastyshockwhenIwasyounger.Icameupagainstsomethingthatwasrathercruelandbeastly.Itpredisposedmetothinkthatlifewasalways—horrible.WhenJackwaskilleditjustconfirmedmybeliefthatthewholeoflifewascruelandtreacherous.”
“Iknow.Andthen,Isuppose,”saidChristopher,watchingher,“Gilescamealong.”
“Yes.”Hesawthesmile,tender,almostshy,thattrembledonhermouth.“Gilescame—everythingfeltrightandsafeandhappy—Giles!”
Thesmilefledfromherlips.Herfacewassuddenlystricken.Sheshiveredasthoughwithcold.
“What’sthematter,Molly?What’sfrighteningyou?Youarefrightened,aren’tyou?”
Shenodded.
“Andit’ssomethingtodowithGiles?Somethinghe’ssaidordone?”
“It’snotGiles,really.It’sthathorribleman!”
“Whathorribleman?”Christopherwassurprised.“Paravicini?”
“No,no.SergeantTrotter.”
“SergeantTrotter?”
“Suggestingthings—hintingthings—puttinghorriblethoughtsintomymindaboutGiles—thoughtsthatIdidn’tknowwerethere.Oh,Ihatehim—Ihatehim.”
Christopher’seyebrowsroseinslowsurprise.“Giles?Giles!Yes,ofcourse,heandIaremuchofanage.HeseemstomemucholderthanIam—butIsupposeheisn’t,really.Yes,Gilesmightfitthebillequallywell.Butlookhere,Molly,that’sallnonsense.GileswasdownherewithyouthedaythatwomanwaskilledinLondon.”
Mollydidnotanswer.
Christopherlookedathersharply.“Wasn’thehere?”
Mollyspokebreathlessly,thewordscomingoutinanincoherentjumble.“Hewasoutallday—inthecar—hewentovertotheothersideofthecountyaboutsomewirenettinginasalethere—atleastthat’swhathesaid—that’swhatIthought—until—until—”
“Untilwhat?”
SlowlyMolly’shandreachedoutandtracedthedateoftheEveningStandardthatcoveredaportionofthekitchentable.
Christopherlookedatitandsaid,“Londonedition,twodaysago.”
“ItwasinGiles’spocketwhenhecameback.He—hemusthavebeeninLondon.”
Christopherstared.HestaredatthepaperandhestaredatMolly.Hepurseduphislipsandbegantowhistle,thencheckedhimselfabruptly.Itwouldn’tdotowhistlethattunejustnow.
Choosinghiswordsverycarefully,andavoidinghereye,hesaid,“Howmuchdoyouactually—knowaboutGiles?”
“Don’t,”criedMolly.“Don’t!That’sjustwhatthatbeastTrottersaid—orhinted.Thatwomenoftendidn’tknowanythingaboutthementhattheymarried—especiallyinwartime.They—theyjusttooktheman’sownaccountofhimself.”
“That’strueenough,Isuppose.”
“Don’tyousayit,too!Ican’tbearit.It’sjustbecausewe’reallinsuchastate,soworkedup.We’d—we’dbelieveanyfantasticsuggestion—It’snottrue!I—”
Shestopped.Thekitchendoorhadopened.
Gilescamein.Therewasratheragrimlookonhisface.“AmIinterruptinganything?”heasked.
Christopherslippedfromthetable.“I’mjusttakingafewcookerylessons,”hesaid.
“Indeed?Well,lookhere,Wren,tête-à-têtesaren’tveryhealthythingsatthepresenttime.Youkeepoutofthekitchen,doyouhear?”
“Oh,butsurely—”
“Youkeepawayfrommywife,Wren.She’snotgoingtobethenextvictim.”
“That,”saidChristopher,“isjustwhatI’mworryingabout.”
Iftherewassignificanceinthewords,Gilesdidnotapparentlynoticethem.Hemerelyturnedaratherdarkershadeofbrickred.“I’lldotheworrying,”hesaid.“Icanlookaftermyownwife.Getthehelloutofhere.”
Mollysaidinaclearvoice,“Pleasego,Christopher.Yes—really.”
Christophermovedslowlytowardthedoor.“Ishan’tgoveryfar,”hesaid,andthewordswereaddressedtoMollyandheldaverydefinitemeaning.
“Willyougetoutofhere?”
Christophergaveahighchildishgiggle.“Aye,aye,Commander,”hesaid.
Thedoorshutbehindhim.GilesturnedonMolly.
“ForGod’ssake,Molly,haven’tyougotanysense?Shutinherealonewithadangeroushomicidalmaniac!”
“Heisn’tthe—”shechangedherphrasequickly—“heisn’tdangerous.Anyway,I’monmyguard.Ican—lookaftermyself.”
Gileslaughedunpleasantly.“SocouldMrs.Boyle.”
“Oh,Giles,don’t.”
“Sorry,mydear.ButI’mhetup.Thatwretchedboy.WhatyouseeinhimIcan’timagine.”
Mollysaidslowly,“I’msorryforhim.”
“Sorryforahomicidallunatic?”
Mollygavehimacuriousglance.“Icouldbesorryforahomicidallunatic,”shesaid.
“CallinghimChristopher,too.SincewhenhaveyoubeenonChristian-nameterms?”
“OhGiles,don’tberidiculous.EveryonealwaysusesChristiannamesnowadays.Youknowtheydo.”
“Evenafteracoupleofdays?Butperhapsit’smorethanthat.PerhapsyouknewMr.ChristopherWren,thephonyarchitect,beforehecamehere?Perhapsyousuggestedtohimthatheshouldcomehere?Perhapsyoucookeditallupbetweenyou?”
Mollystaredathim.“Giles,haveyougoneoutofyourmind?Whatonearthareyousuggesting?”
“I’msuggestingthatChristopherWrenisanoldfriend,thatyou’reonratherclosertermswithhimthanyou’dlikemetoknow.”
“Giles,youmustbecrazy!”
“Isupposeyou’llsticktoitthatyouneversawhimuntilhewalkedinhere.Ratheroddthatheshouldcomeandstayinanout-of-the-wayplacelikethis,isn’tit?”
“IsitanyodderthanthatMajorMetcalfand—andMrs.Boyleshould?”
“Yes—Ithinkitis.I’vealwaysreadthatthesemurmuringloonieshadapeculiarfascinationforwomen.Looksasthoughitweretrue.Howdidyougettoknowhim?Howlonghasthisbeengoingon?”
“You’rebeingabsolutelyabsurd,Giles.IneversawChristopherWrenuntilhearrivedhere.”
“Youdidn’tgouptoLondontomeethimtwodaysagoandfixuptomeethereasstrangers?”
“Youknowperfectlywell,Giles,Ihaven’tbeenuptoLondonforweeks.”
“Haven’tyou?That’sinteresting.”Hefishedafur-linedgloveoutofhispocketandhelditout.“That’soneoftheglovesyouwerewearingdaybeforeyesterday,isn’tit?ThedayIwasoveratSailhamgettingthenetting.”
“ThedayyouwereoveratSailhamgettingthenetting,”saidMolly,eyinghimsteadily.“Yes,IworethosegloveswhenIwentout.”
“Youwenttothevillage,yousaid.Ifyouonlywenttothevillage,whatisthisdoinginsidethatglove?”
Accusingly,heheldoutapinkbusticket.
Therewasamoment’ssilence.
“YouwenttoLondon,”saidGiles.
“Allright,”saidMolly.Herchinshotup.“IwenttoLondon.”
“TomeetthischapChristopherWren.”
“No,nottomeetChristopher.”
“Thenwhydidyougo?”
“Justatthemoment,Giles,”saidMolly,“I’mnotgoingtotellyou.”
“Meaningyou’llgiveyourselftimetothinkupagoodstory!”
“Ithink,”saidMolly,“thatIhateyou!”
“Idon’thateyou,”saidGilesslowly.“ButIalmostwishIdid.Isimplyfeelthat—Idon’tknowyouanymore—Idon’tknowanythingaboutyou.”
“Ifeelthesame,”saidMolly.“You—you’rejustastranger.Amanwholiestome—”
“WhenhaveIeverliedtoyou?”
Mollylaughed.“DoyouthinkIbelievedthatstoryofyoursaboutthewirenetting?YouwereinLondon,too,thatday.”
“Isupposeyousawmethere,”saidGiles.“Andyoudidn’ttrustmeenough—”
“Trustyou?I’llnevertrustanyone—ever—again.”
Neitherofthemhadnoticedthesoftopeningofthekitchendoor.Mr.Paravicinigavealittlecough.
“Soembarrassing,”hemurmured.“Idohopeyouyoungpeoplearenotbothsayingjustalittlemorethanyoumean.Oneissoapttointheselovers’quarrels.”
“Lovers’quarrels,”saidGilesderisively.“That’sgood.”
“Quiteso,quiteso,”saidMr.Paravicini.“Iknowjusthowyoufeel.IhavebeenthroughallthismyselfwhenIwasayoungerman.ButwhatIcametosaywasthattheinspectorpersonissimplyinsistingthatweshouldallcomeintothedrawingroom.Itappearsthathehasanidea.”Mr.Paravicinisniggeredgently.“Thepolicehaveaclue—yes,onehearsthatfrequently.Butanidea?Iverymuchdoubtit.Azealousandpainstakingofficer,nodoubt,ourSergeantTrotter,butnot,Ithink,overendowedwithbrains.”
“Goon,Giles,”saidMolly.“I’vegotthecookingtoseeto.SergeantTrottercandowithoutme.”
“Talkingofcooking,”saidMr.Paravicini,skippingnimblyacrossthekitchentoMolly’sside,“haveyouevertriedchickenliversservedontoastthathasbeenthicklyspreadwithfoiegrasandaverythinrasherofbaconsmearedwithFrenchmustard?”
“Onedoesn’tseemuchfoiegrasnowadays,”saidGiles,“Comeon,Paravicini.”
“ShallIstayandassistyou,dearlady?”
“Youcomealongtothedrawingroom,Paravicini,”saidGiles.
Mr.Paravicinilaughedsoftly.
“Yourhusbandisafraidforyou.Quitenatural.Hedoesn’tfancytheideaofleavingyoualonewithme.Itismysadistictendencieshefears—notmydishonorableones.Iyieldtoforce.”Hebowedgracefullyandkissedthetipsofhisfingers.
Mollysaiduncomfortably,“Oh,Mr.Paravicini,I’msure—”
Mr.Paravicinishookhishead.HesaidtoGiles,“You’reverywise,youngman.Takenochances.CanIprovetoyou—ortotheinspectorforthatmatter—thatIamnotahomicidalmaniac?No,Icannot.Negativesaresuchdifficultthingstoprove.”
Hehummedcheerfully.
Mollyflinched.“PleaseMr.Paravicini—notthathorribletune.”
“‘ThreeBlindMice’—soitwas!Thetunehasgotintomyhead.NowIcometothinkofit,itisagruesomelittlerhyme.Notanicelittlerhymeatall.Butchildrenlikegruesomethings.Youmayhavenoticedthat?ThatrhymeisveryEnglish—thebucolic,cruelEnglishcountryside.‘Shecutofftheirtailswithacarvingknife.’Ofcourseachildwouldlovethat—Icouldtellyouthingsaboutchildren—”
“Pleasedon’t,”saidMollyfaintly,“Ithinkyou’recruel,too.”Hervoicerosehysterically.“Youlaughandsmile—you’relikeacatplayingwithamouse—playing—”
Shebegantolaugh.
“Steady,Molly,”saidGiles.“Comealong,we’llallgointothedrawingroomtogether.Trotterwillbegettingimpatient.Nevermindthecooking.Murderismoreimportantthanfood.”
“I’mnotsurethatIagreewithyou,”saidMr.Paraviciniashefollowedthemwithlittleskippingsteps.“Thecondemnedmanateaheartybreakfast—that’swhattheyalwayssay.”
ChristopherWrenjoinedtheminthehallandreceivedascowlfromGiles.HelookedatMollywithaquick,anxiousglance,butMolly,herheadheldhigh,walkedlookingstraightaheadofher.Theymarchedalmostlikeaprocessiontothedrawingroomdoor.Mr.Paravicinibroughtuptherearwithhislittleskippingsteps.
SergeantTrotterandMajorMetcalfwerestandingwaitinginthedrawingroom.Themajorwaslookingsulky.SergeantTrotterwaslookingflushedandenergetic.
“That’sright,”hesaid,astheyentered.“Iwantedyoualltogether.Iwanttomakeacertainexperiment—andforthatIshallrequireyourcooperation.”
“Willittakelong?”Mollyasked.“I’mratherbusyinthekitchen.Afterall,we’vegottohaveamealsometime.”
“Yes,”saidTrotter.“Iappreciatethat,Mrs.Davis.But,ifyou’llexcuseme,therearemoreimportantthingsthanmeals!Mrs.Boyle,forinstance,won’tneedanothermeal.”
“Really,Sergeant,”saidMajorMetcalf,“that’sanextraordinarilytactlesswayofputtingthings.”
“I’msorry,MajorMetcalf,butIwanteveryonetocooperateinthis.”
“Haveyoufoundyourskis,SergeantTrotter?”askedMolly.
Theyoungmanreddened.“No,Ihavenot,Mrs.Davis.ButImaysayIhaveaveryshrewdsuspicionwhotookthem.Andofwhytheyweretaken.Iwon’tsayanymoreatpresent.”
“Pleasedon’t,”beggedMr.Paravicini.“Ialwaysthinkexplanationsshouldbekepttotheveryend—thatexcitinglastchapter,youknow.”
“Thisisn’tagame,sir.”
“Isn’tit?NowthereIthinkyou’rewrong.Ithinkitisagame—tosomebody.”
“Themurdererisenjoyinghimself,”murmuredMollysoftly.
Theotherslookedatherinastonishment.Sheflushed.
“I’monlyquotingwhatSergeantTrottersaidtome.”
SergeantTrotterdidnotlooktoopleased.“It’sallverywell,Mr.Paravicini,mentioninglastchaptersandspeakingasthoughthiswasamysterythriller,”hesaid.“Thisisreal.Thisishappening.”
“Solong,”saidChristopherWren,fingeringhisneckgingerly,“asitdoesn’thappentome.”
“Now,then,”saidMajorMetcalf.“Noneofthat,youngfellow.Thesergeanthereisgoingtotellusjustwhathewantsustodo.”
SergeantTrotterclearedhisthroat.Hisvoicebecameofficial.
“Itookcertainstatementsfromyouallashorttimeago,”hesaid.“ThosestatementsrelatedtoyourpositionsatthetimewhenthemurderofMrs.Boyleoccurred.Mr.WrenandMr.Daviswereintheirseparatebedrooms.Mrs.Daviswasinthekitchen.MajorMetcalfwasinthecellar.Mr.Paraviciniwashereinthisroom—”
Hepausedandthenwenton.
“Thosearethestatementsyoumade.Ihavenomeansofcheckingthosestatements.Theymaybetrue—theymaynot.Toputitquiteclearly—fourofthosestatementsaretrue—butoneofthemisfalse.Whichone?”
Helookedfromfacetoface.Nobodyspoke.
“Fourofyouarespeakingthetruth—oneislying.Ihaveaplanthatmayhelpmetodiscovertheliar.AndifIdiscoverthatoneofyouliedtome—thenIknowwhothemurdereris.”
Gilessaidsharply,“Notnecessarily.Someonemighthavelied—forsomeotherreason.”
“Iratherdoubtthat,Mr.Davis.”
“Butwhat’stheidea,man?You’vejustsaidyou’venomeansofcheckingthesestatements?”
“No,butsupposingeveryonewastogothroughthesemovementsasecondtime.”
“Bah,”saidMajorMetcalfdisparagingly.“Reconstructionofthecrime.Foreignidea.”
“Notareconstructionofthecrime,MajorMetcalf.Areconstructionofthemovementsofapparentlyinnocentpersons.”
“Andwhatdoyouexpecttolearnfromthat?”
“YouwillforgivemeifIdon’tmakethatclearjustatthemoment.”
“Youwant,”askedMolly,“arepeatperformance?”
“Moreorless,Mrs.Davis.”
Therewasasilence.Itwas,somehow,anuneasysilence.
It’satrap,thoughtMolly.It’satrap—butIdon’tseehow—
Youmighthavethoughtthattherewerefiveguiltypeopleintheroom,insteadofoneguiltyandfourinnocentones.Oneandallcastdoubtfulsidewaysglancesattheassured,smilingyoungmanwhoproposedthisinnocent-soundingmaneuver.
Christopherburstoutshrilly,“ButIdon’tsee—Isimplycan’tsee—whatyoucanpossiblyhopetofindout—justbymakingpeopledothesamethingtheydidbefore.Itseemstomejustnonsense!”
“Doesit,Mr.Wren?”
“Ofcourse,”saidGilesslowly,“whatyousaygoes,Sergeant.We’llco-operate.Arewealltodoexactlywhatwedidbefore?”
“Thesameactionswillbeperformed,yes.”
AfaintambiguityinthephrasemadeMajorMetcalflookupsharply.SergeantTrotterwenton.
“Mr.Paravicinihastoldusthathesatatthepianoandplayedacertaintune.Perhaps,Mr.Paravicini,youwouldkindlyshowusexactlywhatyoudiddo?”
“Butcertainly,mydearSergeant.”
Mr.Paraviciniskippednimblyacrosstheroomtothegrandpianoandsettledhimselfonthemusicstool.
“Themaestroatthepianowillplaythesignaturetunetoamurder,”hesaidwithaflourish.
Hegrinned,andwithelaboratemannerismshepickedoutwithonefingerthetuneof“ThreeBlindMice.”
He’senjoyinghimself,thoughtMolly.He’senjoyinghimself.
Inthebigroomthesoft,mutednoteshadanalmosteerieeffect.
“Thankyou,Mr.Paravicini,”saidSergeantTrotter.“That,Itakeit,isexactlyhowyouplayedthetuneonthe—formeroccasion?”
“Yes,Sergeant,itis.Irepeateditthreetimes.”
SergeantTrotterturnedtoMolly.“Doyouplaythepiano,Mrs.Davis?”
“Yes,SergeantTrotter.”
“Couldyoupickoutthetune,asMr.Paravicinihasdone,playingitinexactlythesamemanner?”
“CertainlyIcould.”
“ThenwillyougoandsitatthepianoandbereadytodosowhenIgivethesignal?”
Mollylookedslightlybewildered.Thenshecrossedslowlytothepiano.
Mr.Paravicinirosefromthepianostoolwithashrillprotest.“But,Sergeant,Iunderstoodthatwewereeachtorepeatourformerroles.Iwasatthepianohere.”
“Thesameactionswillbeperformedasontheformeroccasion—buttheywillnotnecessarilybeperformedbythesamepeople.”
“I—don’tseethepointofthat,”saidGiles.
“Thereisapoint,Mr.Davis.Itisameansofcheckingupontheoriginalstatements—andImaysayofonestatementinparticular.Now,then,please.Iwillassignyouyourvariousstations.Mrs.Daviswillbehere—atthepiano.Mr.Wren,willyoukindlygotothekitchen?JustkeepaneyeonMrs.Davis’sdinner.Mr.Paravicini,willyougotoMr.Wren’sbedroom?Thereyoucanexerciseyourmusicaltalentsbywhistling‘ThreeBlindMice’justashedid.MajorMetcalf,willyougouptoMr.Davis’sbedroomandexaminethetelephonethere?Andyou,Mr.Davis,willyoulookintothecupboardinthehallandthengodowntothecellar?”
Therewasamoment’ssilence.Thenfourpeoplemovedslowlytowardthedoor.Trotterfollowedthem.Helookedoverhisshoulder.
“Countuptofiftyandthenbegintoplay,Mrs.Davis,”hesaid.
Hefollowedtheothersout.BeforethedoorclosedMollyheardMr.Paravicini’svoicesayshrilly,“Ineverknewthepoliceweresofondofparlorgames.”
“Forty-eight,forty-nine,fifty.”
Obediently,thecountingfinished,Mollybegantoplay.Againthesoftcruellittletunecreptoutintothebig,echoingroom.
ThreeBlindMice
Seehowtheyrun….
Mollyfeltherheartbeatingfasterandfaster.AsParavicinihadsaid,itwasastrangelyhauntingandgruesomelittlerhyme.Ithadthatchildishincomprehensionofpitywhichissoterrifyingifmetwithinanadult.
Veryfaintly,fromupstairs,shecouldhearthesametunebeingwhistledinthebedroomabove—ParavicinienactingthepartofChristopherWren.
Suddenly,nextdoor,thewirelesswentoninthelibrary.SergeantTrottermusthavesetthatgoing.Hehimself,then,wasplayingthepartofMrs.Boyle.
Butwhy?Whatwasthepointofitall?Wherewasthetrap?Fortherewasatrap,ofthatshewascertain.
Adraftofcoldairblewacrossthebackofherneck.Sheturnedherheadsharply.Surelythedoorhadopened.Someonehadcomeintotheroom—No,theroomwasempty.Butsuddenlyshefeltnervous—afraid.Ifsomeoneshouldcomein.SupposingMr.Paravicinishouldskiproundthedoor,shouldcomeskippingovertothepiano,hislongfingerstwitchingandtwisting—
“Soyouareplayingyourownfuneralmarch,dearlady,ahappythought—”Nonsense—don’tbestupid—don’timaginethings.Besides,youcanhearhimwhistlingoveryourhead,justashecanhearyou.
Shealmosttookherfingersoffthepianoastheideacametoher!NobodyhadheardMr.Paraviciniplaying.Wasthatthetrap?Wasit,perhaps,possiblethatMr.Paravicinihadn’tbeenplayingatall?Thathehadbeen,notinthedrawingroom,butinthelibrary.Inthelibrary,stranglingMrs.Boyle?
Hehadbeenannoyed,veryannoyed,whenTrotterhadarrangedforhertoplay.Hehadlaidstressonthesoftnesswithwhichhehadpickedoutthetune.Ofcourse,hehademphasizedthesoftnessinthehopesthatitwouldbetoosofttobeheardoutsidetheroom.Becauseifanyonehearditthistimewhohadn’thearditlasttime—whythen,Trotterwouldhavegotwhathewanted—thepersonwhohadlied.
Thedoorofthedrawingroomopened.Molly,strunguptoexpectParavicini,nearlyscreamed.ButitwasonlySergeantTrotterwhoentered,justasshefinishedthethirdrepetitionofthetune.
“Thankyou,Mrs.Davis,”hesaid.
Hewaslookingextremelypleasedwithhimself,andhismannerwasbriskandconfident.
Mollytookherhandsfromthekeys.“Haveyougotwhatyouwanted?”sheasked.
“Yes,indeed.”Hisvoicewasexultant.“I’vegotexactlywhatIwanted.”
“Which?Who?”
“Don’tyouknow,Mrs.Davis?Come,now—it’snotsodifficult.Bytheway,you’vebeen,ifImaysayso,extraordinarilyfoolish.You’veleftmehuntingaboutforthethirdvictim.Asaresult,you’vebeeninseriousdanger.”
“Me?Idon’tknowwhatyoumean.”
“Imeanthatyouhaven’tbeenhonestwithme,Mrs.Davis.Youheldoutonme—justasMrs.Boyleheldoutonme.”
“Idon’tunderstand.”
“Oh,yes,youdo.Why,whenIfirstmentionedtheLongridgeFarmcase,youknewallaboutit.Oh,yes,youdid.Youwereupset.AnditwasyouwhoconfirmedthatMrs.Boylewasthebilletingofficerforthispartofthecountry.Bothyouandshecamefromtheseparts.SowhenIbegantospeculatewhothethirdvictimwaslikelytobe,Iplumpedatonceforyou.You’dshownfirsthandknowledgeoftheLongridgeFarmbusiness.Wepolicemenaren’tsodumbaswelook,youknow.”
Mollysaidinalowvoice,“Youdon’tunderstand.Ididn’twanttoremember.”
“Icanunderstandthat.”Hisvoicechangedalittle.“YourmaidennamewasWainwright,wasn’tit?”
“Yes.”
“Andyou’rejustalittleolderthanyoupretendtobe.In1940,whenthisthinghappened,youweretheschoolteacheratAbbeyvaleschool.”
“No!”
“Oh,yes,youwere,Mrs.Davis.”
“Iwasn’t,Itellyou.”
“Thechildwhodiedmanagedtogetaletterpostedtoyou.Hestoleastamp.Theletterbeggedforhelp—helpfromhiskindteacher.It’sateacher’sbusinesstofindoutwhyachilddoesn’tcometoschool.Youdidn’tfindout.Youignoredthepoorlittledevil’sletter.”
“Stop.”Molly’scheekswereflaming.“It’smysisteryouaretalkingabout.Shewastheschoolmistress.Andshedidn’tignorehisletter.Shewasill—withpneumonia.Sheneversawtheletteruntilafterthechildwasdead.Itupsetherdreadfully—dreadfully—shewasaterriblysensitiveperson.Butitwasn’therfault.It’sbecauseshetookittoheartsodreadfullythatI’veneverbeenabletobearbeingremindedofit.It’sbeenanightmaretome,always.”
Molly’shandswenttohereyes,coveringthem.Whenshetookthemaway,Trotterwasstaringather.
Hesaidsoftly,“Soitwasyoursister.Well,afterall—”Hegaveasuddenqueersmile.“Itdoesn’tmuchmatter,doesit?Yoursister—mybrother—”Hetooksomethingoutofhispocket.Hewassmilingnow,happily.
Mollystaredattheobjectheheld.“Ialwaysthoughtthepolicedidn’tcarryrevolvers,”shesaid.
“Thepolicedon’t,”saidtheyoungman.Hewenton,“Butyousee,Mrs.Davis,I’mnotapoliceman.I’mJim.I’mGeorgie’sbrother.YouthoughtIwasapolicemanbecauseIrangupfromthecallboxinthevillageandsaidthatSergeantTrotterwasonhisway.ThenIcutthetelephonewiresoutsidethehousewhenIgothere,sothatyoushouldn’tbeabletoringbacktothepolicestation.”
Mollystaredathim.Therevolverwaspointingathernow.
“Don’tmove,Mrs.Davis—anddon’tscream—orIpullthetriggeratonce.”
Hewasstillsmiling.Itwas,Mollyrealizedwithhorror,achild’ssmile.Andhisvoice,whenhespoke,wasbecomingachild’svoice.
“Yes,”hesaid,“I’mGeorgie’sbrother.GeorgiediedatLongridgeFarm.Thatnastywomansentusthere,andthefarmer’swifewascrueltous,andyouwouldn’thelpus—threelittleblindmice.IsaidthenI’dkillyouallwhenIgrewup.Imeantit.I’vethoughtofiteversince.”Hefrownedsuddenly.“Theybotheredmealotinthearmy—thatdoctorkeptaskingmequestions—Ihadtogetaway.Iwasafraidthey’dstopmedoingwhatIwantedtodo.ButI’mgrownupnow.Grown-upscandowhattheylike.”
Mollypulledherselftogether.Talktohim,shesaidtoherself.Distracthismind.
“But,Jim,listen,”shesaid.“You’llnevergetsafelyaway.”
Hisfacecloudedover.“Somebody’shiddenmyskis.Ican’tfindthem.”Helaughed.“ButIdaresayitwillbeallright.It’syourhusband’srevolver.Itookitoutofhisdrawer.Idaresaythey’llthinkheshotyou.Anyway—Idon’tmuchcare.It’sbeensuchfun—allofit.Pretending!ThatwomaninLondon,herfacewhensherecognizedme.Thatstupidwomanthismorning!”
Henoddedhishead.
Clearly,witheerieeffect,cameawhistle.Someonewhistlingthetuneof“ThreeBlindMice.”
Trotterstarted,therevolverwavered—avoiceshouted,“Down,Mrs.Davis.”
MollydroppedtothefloorasMajorMetcalf,risingfrombehindtheconcealmentofthesofabythedoorflunghimselfuponTrotter.Therevolverwentoff—andthebulletlodgedinoneofthesomewhatmediocreoilpaintingsdeartotheheartofthelateMissEmory.
Amomentlater,allwaspandemonium—Gilesrushedin,followedbyChristopherandMr.Paravicini.
MajorMetcalf,retaininghisgraspofTrotter,spokeinshortexplosivesentences.
“Cameinwhileyouwereplaying—slippedbehindthesofa—I’vebeenontohimfromthebeginning—that’stosay,Iknewhewasn’tapoliceofficer.I’mapoliceofficer—InspectorTanner.WearrangedwithMetcalfIshouldtakehisplace.ScotlandYardthoughtitadvisabletohavesomeoneonthespot.Now,mylad—”HespokequitegentlytothenowdocileTrotter.“Youcomewithme.Noonewillhurtyou.You’llbeallright.We’lllookafteryou.”
Inapiteouschild’svoicethebronzedyoungmanasked,“Georgiewon’tbeangrywithme?”
Metcalfsaid,“No.Georgiewon’tbeangry.”
HemurmuredtoGilesashepassedhim,“Madasahatter,poordevil.”
Theywentouttogether.Mr.ParavicinitouchedChristopherWrenonthearm.
“You,also,myfriend,”hesaid,“comewithme.”
GilesandMolly,leftalone,lookedateachother.Inanothermomenttheywereineachother’sarms.
“Darling,”saidGiles,“you’resurehedidn’thurtyou?”
“No,no,I’mquiteallright.Giles,I’vebeensoterriblymixedup.Ialmostthoughtyou—whydidyougotoLondonthatday?”
“Darling,Iwantedtogetyouananniversarypresent,fortomorrow.Ididn’twantyoutoknow.”
“Howextraordinary!IwenttoLondontogetyouapresentandIdidn’twantyoutoknow.”
“Iwasinsanelyjealousofthatneuroticass.Imusthavebeenmad.Forgiveme,darling.”
Thedooropened,andMr.Paraviciniskippedininhisgoatlikeway.Hewasbeaming.
“Interruptingthereconciliation—Suchacharmingscene—But,alas,Imustbidyouadieu.Apolicejeephasmanagedtogetthrough.Ishallpersuadethemtotakemewiththem.”HebentandwhisperedmysteriouslyinMolly’sear,“Imayhaveafewembarrassmentsinthenearfuture—butIamconfidentIcanarrangematters,andifyoushouldreceiveacase—withagoose,say,aturkey,sometinsoffoiegras,aham—somenylonstockings,yes?Well,youunderstand,itwillbewithmycomplimentstoaverycharminglady.Mr.Davis,mycheckisonthehalltable.”
HekissedMolly’shandandskippedtothedoor.
“Nylons?”murmuredMolly,“Foiegras?WhoisMr.Paravicini?SantaClaus?”
“Black-marketstyle,Isuspect,”saidGiles.
ChristopherWrenpokedadiffidentheadin.“Mydears,”hesaid,“IhopeI’mnotintruding,butthere’saterriblesmellofburningfromthekitchen.OughtItodosomethingaboutit?”
Withananguishedcryof“Mypie!”Mollyfledfromtheroom.
Two
STRANGEJEST
Andthis,”saidJaneHelier,completingherintroductions,“isMissMarple!”
Beinganactress,shewasabletomakeherpoint.Itwasclearlytheclimax,thetriumphantfinale!Hertonewasequallycompoundedofreverentaweandtriumph.
Theoddpartofitwasthattheobjectthusproudlyproclaimedwasmerelyagentle,fussy-looking,elderlyspinster.Intheeyesofthetwoyoungpeoplewhohadjust,byJane’sgoodoffices,madeheracquaintance,thereshowedincredulityandatingeofdismay.Theywerenice-lookingpeople;thegirl,CharmianStroud,slimanddark—theman,Edward
Charmiansaidalittlebreathlessly.“Oh!We’reawfullypleasedtomeetyou.”Buttherewasdoubtinhereyes.Sheflungaquick,questioningglanceatJaneHelier.
“Darling,”saidJane,answeringtheglance,“she’sabsolutelymarvellous.Leaveitalltoher.ItoldyouI’dgetherhereandIhave.”SheaddedtoMissMarple,“You’llfixitforthem,Iknow.Itwillbeeasyforyou.”
MissMarpleturnedherplacid,china-blueeyestowardsMr.Rossiter.“Won’tyoutellme,”shesaid,“whatallthisisabout?”
“Jane’safriendofours,”Charmianbrokeinimpatiently.“EdwardandIareinratherafix.Janesaidifwewouldcometoherparty,she’dintroduceustosomeonewhowas—whowould—whocould—”
Edwardcametotherescue.“Janetellsusyou’rethelastwordinsleuths,MissMarple!”
Theoldlady’seyestwinkled,butsheprotestedmodestly.“Oh,no,no!Nothingofthekind.It’sjustthatlivinginavillageasIdo,onegetstoknowsomuchabouthumannature.Butreallyyouhavemademequitecurious.Dotellmeyourproblem.”
“I’mafraidit’sterriblyhackneyed—justburiedtreasure,”saidEdward.
“Indeed?Butthatsoundsmostexciting!”
“Iknow.LikeTreasureIsland.Butourproblemlackstheusualromantictouches.Nopointonachartindicatedbyaskullandcrossbones,nodirectionslike‘fourpacestotheleft,westbynorth.’It’shorriblyprosaic—justwhereweoughttodig.”
“Haveyoutriedatall?”
“Ishouldsaywe’ddugabouttwosolidsquareacres!Thewholeplaceisreadytobeturnedintoamarketgarden.We’rejustdiscussingwhethertogrowvegetablemarrowsorpotatoes.”
Charmiansaidratherabruptly,“Maywereallytellyouallaboutit?”
“But,ofcourse,mydear.”
“Thenlet’sfindapeacefulspot.Comeon,Edward.”Sheledthewayoutoftheovercrowdedandsmoke-ladenroom,andtheywentupthestairs,toasmallsittingroomonthesecondfloor.
Whentheywereseated,Charmianbeganabruptly.“Well,heregoes!ThestorystartswithUncleMathew,uncle—orrather,great-great-uncle—tobothofus.Hewasincrediblyancient.EdwardandIwerehisonlyrelations.Hewasfondofusandalwaysdeclaredthatwhenhediedhewouldleavehismoneybetweenus.Well,hediedlastMarchandlefteverythinghehadtobedividedequallybetweenEdwardandmyself.WhatI’vejustsaidsoundsrathercallous—Idon’tmeanthatitwasrightthathedied—actuallywewereveryfondofhim.Buthe’dbeenillforsometime.
“Thepointisthatthe‘everything’heleftturnedouttobepracticallynothingatall.Andthat,frankly,wasabitofablowtousboth,wasn’tit,Edward?”
TheamiableEdwardagreed.“Yousee,”hesaid,“we’dcountedonitabit.Imean,whenyouknowagoodbitofmoneyiscomingtoyou,youdon’t—well—buckledownandtrytomakeityourself.I’minthearmy—notgotanythingtospeakofoutsidemypay—andCharmianherselfhasn’tgotabean.Sheworksasastagemanagerinarepertorytheatre—quiteinteresting,andsheenjoysit—butnomoneyinit.We’dcountedongettingmarried,butweren’tworriedaboutthemoneysideofitbecausewebothknewwe’dbejollywell-offsomeday.”
“Andnow,yousee,we’renot!”saidCharmian.“What’smore,Ansteys—that’sthefamilyplace,andEdwardandIbothloveit—willprobablyhavetobesold.AndEdwardandIfeelwejustcan’tbearthat!Butifwedon’tfindUncleMathew’smoney,weshallhavetosell.”
Edwardsaid,“Youknow,Charmian,westillhaven’tcometothevitalpoint.”
“Well,youtalk,then.”
EdwardturnedtoMissMarple.“It’slikethis,yousee.AsUncleMathewgrewolder,hegotmoreandmoresuspicious.Hedidn’ttrustanybody.”
“Verywiseofhim,”saidMissMarple.“Thedepravityofhumannatureisunbelievable.”
“Well,youmayberight.Anyway,UncleMathewthoughtso.Hehadafriendwholosthismoneyinabank,andanotherfriendwhowasruinedbyanabscondingsolicitor,andhelostsomemoneyhimselfinafraudulentcompany.Hegotsothatheusedtoholdforthatgreatlengththattheonlysafeandsanethingtodowastoconvertyourmoneyintosolidbullionandburyit.”
“Ah,”saidMissMarple.“Ibegintosee.”
“Yes.Friendsarguedwithhim,pointedoutthathe’dgetnointerestthatway,butheheldthatthatdidn’treallymatter.Thebulkofyourmoney,hesaid,shouldbe‘keptinaboxunderthebedorburiedinthegarden.’Thosewerehiswords.”
Charmianwenton.“Andwhenhedied,helefthardlyanythingatallinsecurities,thoughhewasveryrich.Sowethinkthatthat’swhathemusthavedone.”
Edwardexplained.“Wefoundthathehadsoldsecuritiesanddrawnoutlargesumsofmoneyfromtimetotime,andnobodyknowswhathedidwiththem.Butitseemsprobablethatheliveduptohisprinciples,andthathedidbuygoldandburyit.”
“Hedidn’tsayanythingbeforehedied?Leaveanypaper?Noletter?”
“That’sthemaddeningpartofit.Hedidn’t.He’dbeenunconsciousforsomedays,butheralliedbeforehedied.Helookedatusbothandchuckled—afaint,weaklittlechuckle.Hesaid,‘You’llbeallright,myprettypairofdoves.’Andthenhetappedhiseye—hisrighteye—andwinkedatus.Andthen—hedied.PooroldUncleMathew.”
“Hetappedhiseye,”saidMissMarplethoughtfully.
Edwardsaideagerly.“Doesthatconveyanythingtoyou?ItmademethinkofanArseneLupinstorywheretherewassomethinghiddeninaman’sglasseye.ButUncleMathewdidn’thaveaglasseye.”
MissMarpleshookherhead.“No—Ican’tthinkofanythingatthemoment.”
Charmiansaiddisappointedly,“Janetoldusyou’dsayatoncewheretodig!”
MissMarplesmiled.“I’mnotquiteaconjurer,youknow.Ididn’tknowyouruncle,orwhatsortofmanhewas,andIdon’tknowthehouseorthegrounds.”
Charmiansaid,“Ifyoudidknowthem?”
“Well,itmustbequitesimple,really,mustn’tit?”saidMissMarple.
“Simple!”saidCharmian.“YoucomedowntoAnsteysandseeifit’ssimple!”
Itispossiblethatshedidnotmeantheinvitationtobetakenseriously,butMissMarplesaidbriskly,“Well,really,mydear,that’sverykindofyou.I’vealwayswantedtohavethechanceoflookingforburiedtreasure.And,”sheadded,lookingatthemwithabeaming,late-Victoriansmile,“withaloveinterest,too!”
“Yousee!”saidCharmian,gesturingdramatically.
TheyhadjustcompletedagrandtourofAnsteys.Theyhadbeenroundthekitchengarden—heavilytrenched.Theyhadbeenthroughthelittlewoods,whereeveryimportanttreehadbeenduground,andhadgazedsadlyonthepittedsurfaceoftheoncesmoothlawn.Theyhadbeenuptotheattic,whereoldtrunksandchestshadbeenrifledoftheircontents.Theyhadbeendowntothecellars,whereflagstoneshadbeenheavedunwillinglyfromtheirsockets.Theyhadmeasuredandtappedwalls,andMissMarplehadbeenshowneveryantiquepieceoffurniturethatcontainedorcouldbesuspectedofcontainingasecretdrawer.
Onatableinthemorningroomtherewasaheapofpapers—allthepapersthatthelateMathewStroudhadleft.Notonehadbeendestroyed,andCharmianandEdwardwerewonttoreturntothemagainandagain,earnestlyperusingbills,invitations,andbusinesscorrespondenceinthehopeofspottingahithertounnoticedclue.
“Canyouthinkofanywherewehaven’tlooked?”demandedCharmianhopefully.
MissMarpleshookherhead.“Youseemtohavebeenverythorough,mydear.Perhaps,ifImaysayso,justalittletoothorough.Ialwaysthink,youknow,thatoneshouldhaveaplan.It’slikemyfriend,Mrs.Eldritch,shehadsuchanicelittlemaid,polishedlinoleumbeautifully,butshewassothoroughthatshepolishedthebathroomfloortoomuch,andasMrs.Eldritchwassteppingoutofthebaththecorkmatslippedfromunderher,andshehadaverynastyfallandactuallybrokeherleg!Mostawkward,becausethebathroomdoorwaslocked,ofcourse,andthegardenerhadtogetaladderandcomeinthroughthewindow—terriblydistressingtoMrs.Eldritch,whohadalwaysbeenaverymodestwoman.”
Edwardmovedrestlessly.
MissMarplesaidquickly,“Pleaseforgiveme.Soapt,Iknow,toflyoffatatangent.Butonethingdoesremindoneofanother.Andsometimesthatishelpful.AllIwastryingtosaywasthatperhapsifwetriedtosharpenourwitsandthinkofalikelyplace—”
Edwardsaidcrossly,“Youthinkofone,MissMarple.Charmian’sbrainsandminearenowonlybeautifulblanks!”
“Dear,dear.Ofcourse—mosttiringforyou.Ifyoudon’tmindI’lljustlookthroughallthis.”Sheindicatedthepapersonthetable.“Thatis,ifthere’snothingprivate—Idon’twanttoappeartopry.”
“Oh,that’sallright.ButI’mafraidyouwon’tfindanything.”
Shesatdownbythetableandmethodicallyworkedthroughthesheafofdocuments.Asshereplacedeachone,shesortedthemautomaticallyintotidylittleheaps.Whenshehadfinishedshesatstaringinfrontofherforsomeminutes.
Edwardasked,notwithoutatouchofmalice,“Well,MissMarple?”
MissMarplecametoherselfwithalittlestart.“Ibegyourpardon.Mosthelpful.”
“You’vefoundsomethingrelevant?”
“Oh,no,nothinglikethat,butIdobelieveIknowwhatsortofmanyourUncleMathewwas.RatherlikemyownUncleHenry,Ithink.Fondofratherobviousjokes.Abachelor,evidently—Iwonderwhy—perhapsanearlydisappointment?Methodicaluptoapoint,butnotveryfondofbeingtiedup—sofewbachelorsare!”
BehindMissMarple’sback,CharmianmadeasigntoEdward.Itsaid,She’sgaga.
MissMarplewascontinuinghappilytotalkofherdeceasedUncleHenry.“Veryfondofpuns,hewas.Andtosomepeople,punsaremostannoying.Amereplayuponwordsmaybeveryirritating.Hewasasuspiciousman,too.Alwayswasconvincedtheservantswererobbinghim.Andsometimes,ofcourse,theywere,butnotalways.Itgrewuponhim,poorman.Towardstheendhesuspectedthemoftamperingwithhisfood,andfinallyrefusedtoeatanythingbutboiledeggs!Saidnobodycouldtamperwiththeinsideofaboiledegg.DearUncleHenry,heusedtobesuchamerrysoulatonetime—veryfondofhiscoffeeafterdinner.Healwaysusedtosay,‘ThiscoffeeisveryMoorish,’meaning,youknow,thathe’dlikealittlemore.”
EdwardfeltthatifheheardanymoreaboutUncleHenryhe’dgomad.
“Fondofyoungpeople,too,”wentonMissMarple,“butinclinedtoteasethemalittle,ifyouknowwhatImean.Usedtoputbagsofsweetswhereachildjustcouldn’treachthem.”
Castingpolitenessaside,Charmiansaid,“Ithinkhesoundshorrible!”
“Oh,no,dear,justanoldbachelor,youknow,andnotusedtochildren.Andhewasn’tatallstupid,really.Heusedtokeepagooddealofmoneyinthehouse,andhehadasafeputin.Madeagreatfussaboutit—andhowverysecureitwas.Asaresultofhistalkingsomuch,burglarsbrokeinonenightandactuallycutaholeinthesafewithachemicaldevice.”
“Servedhimright,”saidEdward.
“Oh,buttherewasnothinginthesafe,”saidMissMarple.“Yousee,hereallykeptthemoneysomewhereelse—behindsomevolumesofsermonsinthelibrary,asamatteroffact.Hesaidpeoplenevertookabookofthatkindoutoftheshelf!”
Edwardinterruptedexcitedly.“Isay,that’sanidea.Whataboutthelibrary?”
ButCharmianshookascornfulhead.“DoyouthinkIhadn’tthoughtofthat?IwentthroughallthebooksTuesdayoflastweek,whenyouwentofftoPortsmouth.Tookthemallout,shookthem.Nothingthere.”
Edwardsighed.Then,rousinghimself,heendeavouredtoridhimselftactfullyoftheirdisappointingguest.“It’sbeenawfullygoodofyoutocomedownasyouhaveandtrytohelpus.Sorryit’sbeenallawashout.Feelwetrespassedalotonyourtime.However—I’llgetthecarout,andyou’llbeabletocatchthethreethirty—”
“Oh,”saidMissMarple,“butwe’vegottofindthemoney,haven’twe?Youmustn’tgiveup,Mr.Rossiter.‘Ifatfirstyoudon’tsucceed,try,try,tryagain.’”
“Youmeanyou’regoingto—goontrying?”
“Strictlyspeaking,”saidMissMarple,“Ihaven’tbegunyet.‘Firstcatchyourhare—’asMrs.Beatonsaysinhercookerybook—awonderfulbookbutterriblyexpensive;mostoftherecipesbegin,‘Takeaquartofcreamandadozeneggs.’Letmesee,wherewasI?Oh,yes.Well,wehave,sotospeak,caughtourhare—theharebeing,ofcourse,yourUncleMathew,andwe’veonlygottodecidenowwherehewouldhavehiddenthemoney.Itoughttobequitesimple.”
“Simple?”demandedCharmian.
“Oh,yes,dear.I’msurehewouldhavedonetheobviousthing.Asecretdrawer—that’smysolution.”
Edwardsaiddryly,“Youcouldn’tputbarsofgoldinasecretdrawer.”
“No,no,ofcoursenot.Butthere’snoreasontobelievethemoneyisingold.”
“Healwaysusedtosay—”
“SodidmyUncleHenryabouthissafe!SoIshouldstronglysuspectthatthatwasjustablind.Diamonds—nowtheycouldbeinasecretdrawerquiteeasily.”
“Butwe’velookedinallthesecretdrawers.Wehadacabinet-makerovertoexaminethefurniture.”
“Didyou,dear?Thatwascleverofyou.Ishouldsuggestyouruncle’sowndeskwouldbethemostlikely.Wasitthetallescritoireagainstthewallthere?”
“Yes.AndI’llshowyou.”Charmianwentovertoit.Shetookdowntheflap.Insidewerepigeonholesandlittledrawers.Sheopenedasmalldoorinthecentreandtouchedaspringinsidetheleft-handdrawer.Thebottomofthecentrerecessclickedandslidforward.Charmiandrewitout,revealingashallowwellbeneath.Itwasempty.
“Nowisn’tthatacoincidence?”exclaimedMissMarple.“UncleHenryhadadeskjustlikethis,onlyhiswasburrwalnutandthisismahogany.”
“Atanyrate,”saidCharmian,“there’snothingthere,asyoucansee.”
“Iexpect,”saidMissMarple,“yourcabinetmakerwasayoungman.Hedidn’tknoweverything.Peoplewereveryartfulwhentheymadehidingplacesinthosedays.There’ssuchathingasasecretinsideasecret.”
Sheextractedahairpinfromherneatbunofgreyhair.Straighteningitout,shestuckthepointintowhatappearedtobeatinywormholeinonesideofthesecretrecess.Withalittledifficultyshepulledoutasmalldrawer.Initwasabundleoffadedlettersandafoldedpaper.
EdwardandCharmianpouncedonthefindtogether.WithtremblingfingersEdwardunfoldedthepaper.Hedroppeditwithanexclamationofdisgust.
“Adamnedcookeryrecipe.Bakedham!”
Charmianwasuntyingaribbonthatheldtheletterstogether.Shedrewoneoutandglancedatit.“Loveletters!”
MissMarplereactedwithVictoriangusto.“Howinteresting!Perhapsthereasonyourunclenevermarried.”
Charmianreadaloud:
“MyeverdearMathew,ImustconfessthatthetimeseemslongindeedsinceIreceivedyourlastletter.Itrytooccupymyselfwiththevarioustasksallottedtome,andoftensaytomyselfthatIamindeedfortunatetoseesomuchoftheglobe,thoughlittledidIthinkwhenIwenttoAmericathatIshouldvoyageofftothesefarislands!”
Charmianbrokeoff.“Whereisitfrom?Oh!Hawaii!”Shewenton:
“Alas,thesenativesarestillfarfromseeingthelight.Theyareinanunclothedandsavagestateandspendmostoftheirtimeswimminganddancing,adorningthemselveswithgarlandsofflowers.Mr.Grayhasmadesomeconvertsbutitisuphillwork,andheandMrs.Graygetsadlydiscouraged.ItrytodoallIcantocheerandencouragehim,butI,too,amoftensadforareasonyoucanguess,dearMathew.Alas,absenceisaseveretrialforalovingheart.Yourrenewedvowsandprotestationsofaffectioncheeredmegreatly.Nowandalwaysyouhavemyfaithfulanddevotedheart,dearMathew,andIremain—Yourtruelove,BettyMartin.“PS—Iaddressmyletterundercovertoourmutualfriend,MatildaGraves,asusual.Ihopeheavenwillpardonthislittlesubterfuge.”
Edwardwhistled.“Afemalemissionary!SothatwasUncleMathew’sromance.Iwonderwhytheynevermarried?”
“Sheseemstohavegoneallovertheworld,”saidCharmian,lookingthroughtheletters.“Mauritius—allsortsofplaces.Probablydiedofyellowfeverorsomething.”
Agentlechucklemadethemstart.MissMarplewasapparentlymuchamused.“Well,well,”shesaid.“Fancythat,now!”
Shewasreadingtherecipeforbakedham.Seeingtheirenquiringglances,shereadout:“‘Bakedhamwithspinach.Takeanicepieceofgammon,stuffwithcloves,andcoverwithbrownsugar.Bakeinaslowoven.Servewithaborderofpureedspinach.’Whatdoyouthinkofthat,now?”
“Ithinkitsoundsfilthy,”saidEdward.
“No,no,actuallyitwouldbeverygood—butwhatdoyouthinkofthewholething?”
AsuddenrayoflightilluminatedEdward’sface.“Doyouthinkit’sacode—cryptogramofsomekind?”Heseizedit.“Lookhere,Charmian,itmightbe,youknow!Noreasontoputacookingrecipeinasecretdrawerotherwise.”
“Exactly,”saidMissMarple.“Very,verysignificant.”
Charmiansaid,“Iknowwhatitmightbe—invisibleink!Let’sheatit.Turnontheelectricfire.”
Edwarddidso,butnosignsofwritingappearedunderthetreatment.
MissMarplecoughed.“Ireallythink,youknow,thatyou’remakingitrathertoodifficult.Therecipeisonlyanindication,sotospeak.Itis,Ithink,thelettersthataresignificant.”
“Theletters?”
“Especially,”saidMissMarple,“thesignature.”
ButEdwardhardlyheardher.Hecalledexcitedly,“Charmian!Comehere!She’sright.See—theenvelopesareold,rightenough,butthelettersthemselveswerewrittenmuchlater.”
“Exactly,”saidMissMarple.
“They’reonlyfakeold.IbetanythingoldUncleMatfakedthemhimself—”
“Precisely,”saidMissMarple.
“Thewholething’sasell.Thereneverwasafemalemissionary.Itmustbeacode.”
“Mydear,dearchildren—there’sreallynoneedtomakeitallsodifficult.Yourunclewasreallyaverysimpleman.Hehadtohavehislittlejoke,thatwasall.”
Forthefirsttimetheygavehertheirfullattention.
“Justexactlywhatdoyoumean,MissMarple?”askedCharmian.
“Imean,dear,thatyou’reactuallyholdingthemoneyinyourhandthisminute.”
Charmianstareddown.
“Thesignature,dear.Thatgivesthewholethingaway.Therecipeisjustanindication.Shornofalltheclovesandbrownsugarandtherestofit,whatisitactually?Why,gammonandspinachtobesure!Gammonandspinach!Meaning—nonsense!Soit’sclearthatit’sthelettersthatareimportant.Andthen,ifyoutakeintoconsiderationwhatyouruncledidjustbeforehedied.Hetappedhiseye,yousaid.Well,thereyouare—thatgivesyoutheclue,yousee.”
Charmiansaid,“Arewemad,orareyou?”
“Surely,mydear,youmusthaveheardtheexpressionmeaningthatsomethingisnotatruepicture,orhasitquitediedoutnowadays?‘AllmyeyeandBettyMartin.’”
Edwardgasped,hiseyesfallingtotheletterinhishand.“BettyMartin—”
“Ofcourse,Mr.Rossiter.Asyouhavejustsaid,thereisn’t—therewasn’tanysuchperson.Theletterswerewrittenbyyouruncle,andIdaresayhegotalotoffunoutofwritingthem!Asyousay,thewritingontheenvelopesismucholder—infact,theenvelopecouldn’tbelongtotheletters,anyway,becausethepostmarkofoneyouareholdingiseighteenfifty-one.”
Shepaused.Shemadeitveryemphatic.“Eighteenfifty-one.Andthatexplainseverything,doesn’tit?”
“Nottome,”saidEdward.
“Well,ofcourse,”saidMissMarple,“Idaresayitwouldn’ttomeifitweren’tformygreat-nephewLionel.Suchadearlittleboyandapassionatestampcollector.Knowsallaboutstamps.Itwashewhotoldmeabouttherareandexpensivestampsandthatawonderfulnewfindhadcomeupforauction.AndIactuallyrememberhismentioningonestamp—aneighteenfifty-onebluetwocent.Itrealizedsomethingliketwenty-fivethousanddollars,Ibelieve.Fancy!Ishouldimaginethattheotherstampsaresomethingalsorareandexpensive.Nodoubtyouruncleboughtthroughdealersandwascarefulto‘coverhistracks,’astheysayindetectivestories.”
Edwardgroaned.Hesatdownandburiedhisfaceinhishands.
“What’sthematter?”demandedCharmian.
“Nothing.It’sonlytheawfulthoughtthat,butforMissMarple,wemighthaveburnedtheselettersinadecent,gentlemanlyway!”
“Ah,”saidMissMarple,“that’sjustwhattheseoldgentlemenwhoarefondoftheirjokesneverrealize.UncleHenry,Iremember,sentafavouritenieceafivepoundnoteforaChristmaspresent.HeputitinaChristmascard,gummedthecardtogether,andwroteonit,‘Loveandbestwishes.AfraidthisisallIcanmanagethisyear.’”
“She,poorgirl,wasannoyedatwhatshethoughtwashismeannessandthrewitallstraightintothefire;then,ofcourse,hehadtogiveheranother.”
Edward’sfeelingstowardsUncleHenryhadsufferedanabruptandcompletechange.
“MissMarple,”hesaid,“I’mgoingtogetabottleofchampagne.We’llalldrinkthehealthofyourUncleHenry.”
Three
TAPEMEASUREMURDER
MissPolitttookholdoftheknockerandrappedpolitelyonthecottagedoor.Afteradiscreetintervalsheknockedagain.Theparcelunderherleftarmshiftedalittleasshedidso,andshereadjustedit.InsidetheparcelwasMrs.Spenlow’snewgreenwinterdress,readyforfitting.FromMissPolitt’slefthanddangledabagofblacksilk,containingatapemeasure,apincushion,andalarge,practicalpairofscissors.
MissPolittwastallandgaunt,withasharpnose,pursedlips,andmeagreiron-greyhair.Shehesitatedbeforeusingtheknockerforthethirdtime.Glancingdownthestreet,shesawafigurerapidlyapproaching.MissHartnell,jolly,weather-beaten,fifty-five,shoutedoutinherusualloudbassvoice,“Goodafternoon,MissPolitt!”
Thedressmakeranswered,“Goodafternoon,MissHartnell.”Hervoicewasexcessivelythinandgenteelinitsaccents.Shehadstartedlifeasalady’smaid.“Excuseme,”shewenton,“butdoyouhappentoknowifbyanychanceMrs.Spenlowisn’tathome?”
“Nottheleastidea,”saidMissHartnell.
“It’sratherawkward,yousee.IwastofitonMrs.Spenlow’snewdressthisafternoon.Threethirty,shesaid.”
MissHartnellconsultedherwristwatch.“It’salittlepastthehalfhournow.”
“Yes.Ihaveknockedthreetimes,buttheredoesn’tseemtobeanyanswer,soIwaswonderingifperhapsMrs.Spenlowmighthavegoneoutandforgotten.Shedoesn’tforgetappointmentsasarule,andshewantsthedresstowearthedayaftertomorrow.”
MissHartnellenteredthegateandwalkedupthepathtojoinMissPolittoutsidethedoorofLaburnumCottage.
“Whydoesn’tGladysanswerthedoor?”shedemanded.“Oh,no,ofcourse,it’sThursday—Gladys’sdayout.IexpectMrs.Spenlowhasfallenasleep.Idon’texpectyou’vemadeenoughnoisewiththisthing.”
Seizingtheknocker,sheexecutedadeafeningrat-a-tat-tat,andinadditionthumpeduponthepanelsofthedoor.Shealsocalledoutinastentorianvoice,“Whatho,withinthere!”
Therewasnoresponse.
MissPolittmurmured,“Oh,IthinkMrs.Spenlowmusthaveforgottenandgoneout,I’llcallroundsomeothertime.”Shebeganedgingawaydownthepath.
“Nonsense,”saidMissHartnellfirmly.“Shecan’thavegoneout.I’dhavemether.I’lljusttakealookthroughthewindowsandseeifIcanfindanysignsoflife.”
Shelaughedinherusualheartymanner,toindicatethatitwasajoke,andappliedaperfunctoryglancetothenearestwindowpane—perfunctorybecausesheknewquitewellthatthefrontroomwasseldomused,Mr.andMrs.Spenlowpreferringthesmallbacksittingroom.
Perfunctoryasitwas,though,itsucceededinitsobject.MissHartnell,itistrue,sawnosignsoflife.Onthecontrary,shesaw,throughthewindow,Mrs.Spenlowlyingonthehearthrug—dead
“Ofcourse,”saidMissHartnell,tellingthestoryafterwards,“Imanagedtokeepmyhead.ThatPolittcreaturewouldn’thavehadtheleastideaofwhattodo.‘Gottokeepourheads,’Isaidtoher.‘Youstayhere,andI’llgoforConstablePalk.’Shesaidsomethingaboutnotwantingtobeleft,butIpaidnoattentionatall.Onehastobefirmwiththatsortofperson.I’vealwaysfoundtheyenjoymakingafuss.SoIwasjustgoingoffwhen,atthatverymoment,Mr.Spenlowcameroundthecornerofthehouse.”
HereMissHartnellmadeasignificantpause.Itenabledheraudiencetoaskbreathlessly,“Tellme,howdidhelook?”
MissHartnellwouldthengoon,“Frankly,Isuspectedsomethingatonce!Hewasfartoocalm.Hedidn’tseemsurprisedintheleast.Andyoumaysaywhatyoulike,itisn’tnaturalforamantohearthathiswifeisdeadanddisplaynoemotionwhatever.”
Everybodyagreedwiththisstatement.
Thepoliceagreedwithit,too.SosuspiciousdidtheyconsiderMr.Spenlow’sdetachment,thattheylostnotimeinascertaininghowthatgentlemanwassituatedasaresultofhiswife’sdeath.WhentheydiscoveredthatMrs.Spenlowhadbeenthemoniedpartner,andthathermoneywenttoherhusbandunderawillmadesoonaftertheirmarriage,theyweremoresuspiciousthanever.
MissMarple,thatsweet-faced—and,somesaid,vinegar-tongued—elderlyspinsterwholivedinthehousenexttotherectory,wasinterviewedveryearly—withinhalfanhourofthediscoveryofthecrime.ShewasapproachedbyPoliceConstablePalk,importantlythumbinganotebook.“Ifyoudon’tmind,ma’am,I’veafewquestionstoaskyou.”
MissMarplesaid,“InconnectionwiththemurderofMrs.Spenlow?”
Palkwasstartled.“MayIask,madam,howyougottoknowofit?”
“Thefish,”saidMissMarple.
ThereplywasperfectlyintelligibletoConstablePalk.Heassumedcorrectlythatthefishmonger’sboyhadbroughtit,togetherwithMissMarple’seveningmeal.
MissMarplecontinuedgently.“Lyingonthefloorinthesittingroom,strangled—possiblybyaverynarrowbelt.Butwhateveritwas,itwastakenaway.”
Palk’sfacewaswrathful.“HowthatyoungFredgetstoknoweverything—”
MissMarplecuthimshortadroitly.Shesaid,“There’sapininyourtunic.”
ConstablePalklookeddown,startled.Hesaid,“Theydosay,‘Seeapinandpickitup,allthedayyou’llhavegoodluck.’”
“Ihopethatwillcometrue.Nowwhatisityouwantmetotellyou?”
ConstablePalkclearedhisthroat,lookedimportant,andconsultedhisnotebook.“StatementwasmadetomebyMr.ArthurSpenlow,husbandofthedeceased.Mr.Spenlowsaysthatattwothirty,asfarashecansay,hewasrungupbyMissMarple,andaskedifhewouldcomeoverataquarterpastthreeasshewasanxioustoconsulthimaboutsomething.Now,ma’am,isthattrue?”
“Certainlynot,”saidMissMarple.
“YoudidnotringupMr.Spenlowattwothirty?”
“Neitherattwothirtynoranyothertime.”
“Ah,”saidConstablePalk,andsuckedhismoustachewithagooddealofsatisfaction.
“WhatelsedidMr.Spenlowsay?”
“Mr.Spenlow’sstatementwasthathecameoverhereasrequested,leavinghisownhouseattenminutespastthree;thatonarrivalherehewasinformedbythemaidservantthatMissMarplewas‘notat’ome.’”
“Thatpartofitistrue,”saidMissMarple.“Hedidcomehere,butIwasatameetingattheWomen’sInstitute.”
“Ah,”saidConstablePalkagain.
MissMarpleexclaimed,“Dotellme,Constable,doyoususpectMr.Spenlow?”
“It’snotformetosayatthisstage,butitlookstomeasthoughsomebody,namingnonames,hasbeentryingtobeartful.”
MissMarplesaidthoughtfully,“Mr.Spenlow?”
ShelikedMr.Spenlow.Hewasasmall,spareman,stiffandconventionalinspeech,theacmeofrespectability.Itseemedoddthatheshouldhavecometoliveinthecountry,hehadsoclearlylivedintownsallhislife.ToMissMarpleheconfidedthereason.Hesaid,“Ihavealwaysintended,eversinceIwasasmallboy,toliveinthecountrysomedayandhaveagardenofmyown.Ihavealwaysbeenverymuchattachedtoflowers.Mywife,youknow,keptaflowershop.That’swhereIsawherfirst.”
Adrystatement,butitopenedupavistaofromance.Ayounger,prettierMrs.Spenlow,seenagainstabackgroundofflowers.
Mr.Spenlow,however,reallyknewnothingaboutflowers.Hehadnoideaofseeds,ofcuttings,ofbeddingout,ofannualsorperennials.Hehadonlyavision—avisionofasmallcottagegardenthicklyplantedwithsweet-smelling,brightlycolouredblossoms.Hehadasked,almostpathetically,forinstruction,andhadnoteddownMissMarple’srepliestoquestionsinalittlebook.
Hewasamanofquietmethod.Itwas,perhaps,becauseofthistrait,thatthepolicewereinterestedinhimwhenhiswifewasfoundmurdered.WithpatienceandperseverancetheylearnedagooddealaboutthelateMrs.Spenlow—andsoonallSt.MaryMeadknewit,too.
ThelateMrs.Spenlowhadbegunlifeasabetween-maidinalargehouse.Shehadleftthatpositiontomarrythesecondgardener,andwithhimhadstartedaflowershopinLondon.Theshophadprospered.Notsothegardener,whobeforelonghadsickenedanddied.
Hiswidowcarriedontheshopandenlargeditinanambitiousway.Shehadcontinuedtoprosper.Thenshehadsoldthebusinessatahandsomepriceandembarkeduponmatrimonyforthesecondtime—withMr.Spenlow,amiddle-agedjewellerwhohadinheritedasmallandstrugglingbusiness.Notlongafterwards,theyhadsoldthebusinessandcamedowntoSt.MaryMead.
Mrs.Spenlowwasawell-to-dowoman.Theprofitsfromherflorist’sestablishmentshehadinvested—“underspiritguidance,”assheexplainedtoallandsundry.Thespiritshadadvisedherwithunexpectedacumen.
Allherinvestmentshadprospered,someinquiteasensationalfashion.Instead,however,ofthisincreasingherbeliefinspiritualism,Mrs.Spenlowbaselydesertedmediumsandsittings,andmadeabriefbutwholeheartedplungeintoanobscurereligionwithIndianaffinitieswhichwasbasedonvariousformsofdeepbreathing.When,however,shearrivedatSt.MaryMead,shehadrelapsedintoaperiodoforthodoxChurch-of-Englandbeliefs.Shewasagooddealatthevicarage,andattendedchurchserviceswithassiduity.Shepatronizedthevillageshops,tookaninterestinthelocalhappenings,andplayedvillagebridge.
Ahumdrum,everydaylife.And—suddenly—murder.
ColonelMelchett,thechiefconstable,hadsummonedInspectorSlack.
Slackwasapositivetypeofman.Whenhehadmadeuphismind,hewassure.Hewasquitesurenow.“Husbanddidit,sir,”hesaid.
“Youthinkso?”
“Quitesureofit.You’veonlygottolookathim.Guiltyashell.Nevershowedasignofgrieforemotion.Hecamebacktothehouseknowingshewasdead.”
“Wouldn’theatleasthavetriedtoactthepartofthedistractedhusband?”
“Nothim,sir.Toopleasedwithhimself.Somegentlemencan’tact.Toostiff.”
“Anyotherwomaninhislife?”ColonelMelchettasked.
“Haven’tbeenabletofindanytraceofone.Ofcourse,he’stheartfulkind.He’dcoverhistracks.AsIseeit,hewasjustfedupwithhiswife.She’dgotthemoney,andIshouldsaywasatryingwomantolivewith—alwaystakingupwithsome‘ism’orother.Hecold-bloodedlydecidedtodoawaywithherandlivecomfortablyonhisown.”
“Yes,thatcouldbethecase,Isuppose.”
“Dependuponit,thatwasit.Madehisplanscareful.Pretendedtogetaphonecall—”
Melchettinterruptedhim.“Nocallbeentraced?”
“No,sir.Thatmeanseitherthathelied,orthatthecallwasputthroughfromapublictelephonebooth.Theonlytwopublicphonesinthevillageareatthestationandthepostoffice.Postofficeitcertainlywasn’t.Mrs.Bladeseeseveryonewhocomesin.Stationitmightbe.Trainarrivesattwotwenty-sevenandthere’sabitofabustlethen.ButthemainthingishesaysitwasMissMarplewhocalledhimup,andthatcertainlyisn’ttrue.Thecalldidn’tcomefromherhouse,andsheherselfwasawayattheInstitute.”
“You’renotoverlookingthepossibilitythatthehusbandwasdeliberatelygotoutoftheway—bysomeonewhowantedtomurderMrs.Spenlow?”
“You’rethinkingofyoungTedGerard,aren’tyou,sir?I’vebeenworkingonhim—whatwe’reupagainstthereislackofmotive.Hedoesn’tstandtogainanything.”
“He’sanundesirablecharacter,though.Quiteaprettylittlespotofembezzlementtohiscredit.”
“I’mnotsayingheisn’tawrong’un.Still,hedidgotohisbossandownuptothatembezzlement.Andhisemployersweren’twisetoit.”
“AnOxfordGrouper,”saidMelchett.
“Yes,sir.Becameaconvertandwentofftodothestraightthingandownuptohavingpinchedmoney.I’mnotsaying,mindyou,thatitmayn’thavebeenastuteness.Hemayhavethoughthewassuspectedanddecidedtogambleonhonestrepentance.”
“Youhaveascepticalmind,Slack,”saidColonelMelchett.“Bytheway,haveyoutalkedtoMissMarpleatall?”
“What’sshegottodowithit,sir?”
“Oh,nothing.Butshehearsthings,youknow.Whydon’tyougoandhaveachatwithher?She’saverysharpoldlady.”
Slackchangedthesubject.“OnethingI’vebeenmeaningtoaskyou,sir.Thatdomesticservicejobwherethedeceasedstartedhercareer—SirRobertAbercrombie’splace.That’swherethatjewelrobberywas—emeralds—worthapacket.Nevergotthem.I’vebeenlookingitup—musthavehappenedwhentheSpenlowwomanwasthere,thoughshe’dhavebeenquiteagirlatthetime.Don’tthinkshewasmixedupinit,doyou,sir?Spenlow,youknow,wasoneofthoselittletuppenny-ha’pennyjewellers—justthechapforafence.”
Melchettshookhishead.“Don’tthinkthere’sanythinginthat.Shedidn’tevenknowSpenlowatthetime.Irememberthecase.Opinioninpolicecircleswasthatasonofthehousewasmixedupinit—JimAbercrombie—awfulyoungwaster.Hadapileofdebts,andjustaftertherobberytheywereallpaidoff—somerichwoman,sotheysaid,butIdon’tknow—OldAbercrombiehedgedabitaboutthecase—triedtocallthepoliceoff.”
“Itwasjustanidea,sir,”saidSlack.
MissMarplereceivedInspectorSlackwithgratification,especiallywhensheheardthathehadbeensentbyColonelMelchett.
“Now,really,thatisverykindofColonelMelchett.Ididn’tknowherememberedme.”
“Heremembersyou,allright.Toldmethatwhatyoudidn’tknowofwhatgoesoninSt.MaryMeadisn’tworthknowing.”
“Tookindofhim,butreallyIdon’tknowanythingatall.Aboutthismurder,Imean.”
“Youknowwhatthetalkaboutitis.”
“Oh,ofcourse—butitwouldn’tdo,wouldit,torepeatjustidletalk?”
Slacksaid,withanattemptatgeniality,“Thisisn’tanofficialconversation,youknow.It’sinconfidence,sotospeak.”
“Youmeanyoureallywanttoknowwhatpeoplearesaying?Whetherthere’sanytruthinitornot?”
“That’stheidea.”
“Well,ofcourse,there’sbeenagreatdealoftalkandspeculation.Andtherearereallytwodistinctcamps,ifyouunderstandme.Tobeginwith,therearethepeoplewhothinkthatthehusbanddidit.Ahusbandorawifeis,inaway,thenaturalpersontosuspect,don’tyouthinkso?”
“Maybe,”saidtheinspectorcautiously.
“Suchclosequarters,youknow.Then,sooften,themoneyangle.IhearthatitwasMrs.Spenlowwhohadthemoney,andthereforeMr.Spenlowdoesbenefitbyherdeath.InthiswickedworldI’mafraidthemostuncharitableassumptionsareoftenjustified.”
“Hecomesintoatidysum,allright.”
“Justso.Itwouldseemquiteplausible,wouldn’tit,forhimtostrangleher,leavethehousebytheback,comeacrossthefieldstomyhouse,askformeandpretendhe’dhadatelephonecallfromme,thengobackandfindhiswifemurderedinhisabsence—hoping,ofcourse,thatthecrimewouldbeputdowntosometramporburglar.”
Theinspectornodded.“Whatwiththemoneyangle—andifthey’dbeenonbadtermslately—”
ButMissMarpleinterruptedhim.“Oh,buttheyhadn’t.”
“Youknowthatforafact?”
“Everyonewouldhaveknownifthey’dquarrelled!Themaid,GladysBrent—she’dhavesoonspreaditroundthevillage.”
Theinspectorsaidfeebly,“Shemightn’thaveknown—”andreceivedapityingsmileinreply.
MissMarplewenton.“Andthenthere’stheotherschoolofthought.TedGerard.Agood-lookingyoungman.I’mafraid,youknow,thatgoodlooksareinclinedtoinfluenceonemorethantheyshould.Ourlastcuratebutone—quiteamagicaleffect!Allthegirlscametochurch—eveningserviceaswellasmorning.Andmanyolderwomenbecameunusuallyactiveinparishwork—andtheslippersandscarfsthatweremadeforhim!Quiteembarrassingforthepooryoungman.
“Butletmesee,wherewasI?Oh,yes,thisyoungman,TedGerard.Ofcourse,therehasbeentalkabouthim.He’scomedowntoseehersooften.ThoughMrs.SpenlowtoldmeherselfthathewasamemberofwhatIthinktheycalltheOxfordGroup.Areligiousmovement.Theyarequitesincereandveryearnest,Ibelieve,andMrs.Spenlowwasimpressedbyitall.”
MissMarpletookabreathandwenton.“AndI’msuretherewasnoreasontobelievethattherewasanythingmoreinitthanthat,butyouknowwhatpeopleare.QuitealotofpeopleareconvincedthatMrs.Spenlowwasinfatuatedwiththeyoungman,andthatshe’dlenthimquitealotofmoney.Andit’sperfectlytruethathewasactuallyseenatthestationthatday.Inthetrain—thetwotwenty-sevendowntrain.Butofcourseitwouldbequiteeasy,wouldn’tit,toslipoutoftheothersideofthetrainandgothroughthecuttingandoverthefenceandroundbythehedgeandnevercomeoutofthestationentranceatall.Sothatheneednothavebeenseengoingtothecottage.And,ofcourse,peopledothinkthatwhatMrs.Spenlowwaswearingwasratherpeculiar.”
“Peculiar?”
“Akimono.Notadress.”MissMarpleblushed.“Thatsortofthing,youknow,is,perhaps,rathersuggestivetosomepeople.”
“Youthinkitwassuggestive?”
“Oh,no,Idon’tthinkso,Ithinkitwasperfectlynatural.”
“Youthinkitwasnatural?”
“Underthecircumstances,yes.”MissMarple’sglancewascoolandreflective.
InspectorSlacksaid,“Itmightgiveusanothermotiveforthehusband.Jealousy.”
“Oh,no,Mr.Spenlowwouldneverbejealous.He’snotthesortofmanwhonoticesthings.Ifhiswifehadgoneawayandleftanoteonthepincushion,itwouldbethefirsthe’dknowofanythingofthatkind.”
InspectorSlackwaspuzzledbytheintentwayshewaslookingathim.Hehadanideathatallherconversationwasintendedtohintatsomethinghedidn’tunderstand.Shesaidnow,withsomeemphasis,“Didn’tyoufindanyclues,Inspector—onthespot?”
“Peopledon’tleavefingerprintsandcigaretteashnowadays,MissMarple.”
“Butthis,Ithink,”shesuggested,“wasanold-fashionedcrime—”
Slacksaidsharply,“Nowwhatdoyoumeanbythat?”
MissMarpleremarkedslowly,“Ithink,youknow,thatConstablePalkcouldhelpyou.Hewasthefirstpersononthe—onthe‘sceneofthecrime,’astheysay.”Mr.Spenlowwassittinginadeckchair.Helookedbewildered.Hesaid,inhisthin,precisevoice,“Imay,ofcourse,beimaginingwhatoccurred.Myhearingisnotasgoodasitwas.ButIdistinctlythinkIheardasmallboycallafterme,‘Yah,who’saCrippen?’It—itconveyedtheimpressiontomethathewasoftheopinionthatIhad—hadkilledmydearwife.”
MissMarple,gentlysnippingoffadeadrosehead,said,“Thatwastheimpressionhemeanttoconvey,nodoubt.”
“Butwhatcouldpossiblyhaveputsuchanideaintoachild’shead?”
MissMarplecoughed.“Listening,nodoubt,totheopinionsofhiselders.”
“You—youreallymeanthatotherpeoplethinkthat,also?”
“QuitehalfthepeopleinSt.MaryMead.”
“But—mydearlady—whatcanpossiblyhavegivenrisetosuchanidea?Iwassincerelyattachedtomywife.Shedidnot,alas,taketolivinginthecountryasmuchasIhadhopedshewoulddo,butperfectagreementoneverysubjectisanimpossibleidea.IassureyouIfeelherlossverykeenly.”
“Probably.Butifyouwillexcusemysayingso,youdon’tsoundasthoughyoudo.”
Mr.Spenlowdrewhismeagreframeuptoitsfullheight.“Mydearlady,manyyearsagoIreadofacertainChinesephilosopherwho,whenhisdearlylovedwifewastakenfromhim,continuedcalmlytobeatagonginthestreet—acustomaryChinesepastime,Ipresume—exactlyasusual.Thepeopleofthecityweremuchimpressedbyhisfortitude.”
“But,”saidMissMarple,“thepeopleofSt.MaryMeadreactratherdifferently.Chinesephilosophydoesnotappealtothem.”
“Butyouunderstand?”
MissMarplenodded.“MyUncleHenry,”sheexplained,“wasamanofunusualself-control.Hismottowas‘Neverdisplayemotion.’He,too,wasveryfondofflowers.”
“Iwasthinking,”saidMr.Spenlowwithsomethinglikeeagerness,“thatImight,perhaps,haveapergolaonthewestsideofthecottage.Pinkrosesand,perhaps,wisteria.Andthereisawhitestarryflower,whosenameforthemomentescapesme—”
Inthetoneinwhichshespoketohergrandnephew,agedthree,MissMarplesaid,“Ihaveaverynicecataloguehere,withpictures.Perhapsyouwouldliketolookthroughit—Ihavetogouptothevillage.”
LeavingMr.Spenlowsittinghappilyinthegardenwithhiscatalogue,MissMarplewentuptoherroom,hastilyrolledupadressinapieceofbrownpaper,and,leavingthehouse,walkedbrisklyuptothepostoffice.MissPolitt,thedressmaker,livedintheroomsoverthepostoffice.
ButMissMarpledidnotatoncegothroughthedoorandupthestairs.Itwasjusttwothirty,and,aminutelate,theMuchBenhambusdrewupoutsidethepostofficedoor.ItwasoneoftheeventsofthedayinSt.MaryMead.Thepostmistresshurriedoutwithparcels,parcelsconnectedwiththeshopsideofherbusiness,forthepostofficealsodealtinsweets,cheapbooks,andchildren’stoys.
ForsomefourminutesMissMarplewasaloneinthepostoffice.
NottillthepostmistressreturnedtoherpostdidMissMarplegoupstairsandexplaintoMissPolittthatshewantedheroldgreycrepealteredandmademorefashionableifthatwerepossible.MissPolittpromisedtoseewhatshecoulddo.
ThechiefconstablewasratherastonishedwhenMissMarple’snamewasbroughttohim.Shecameinwithmanyapologies.“Sosorry—soverysorrytodisturbyou.Youaresobusy,Iknow,butthenyouhavealwaysbeensoverykind,ColonelMelchett,andIfeltIwouldrathercometoyouinsteadofInspectorSlack.Foronething,youknow,IshouldhateConstablePalktogetintoanytrouble.Strictlyspeaking,Isupposeheshouldn’thavetouchedanythingatall.”
ColonelMelchettwasslightlybewildered.Hesaid,“Palk?That’stheSt.MaryMeadconstable,isn’tit?Whathashebeendoing?”
“Hepickedupapin,youknow.Itwasinhistunic.AnditoccurredtomeatthetimethatitwasquiteprobablehehadactuallypickeditupinMrs.Spenlow’shouse.”
“Quite,quite.Butafterall,youknow,what’sapin?MatteroffacthedidpickthepinupjustbyMrs.Spenlow’sbody.CameandtoldSlackaboutityesterday—youputhimuptothat,Igather?Oughtn’ttohavetouchedanything,ofcourse,butasIsaid,what’sapin?Itwasonlyacommonpin.Sortofthinganywomanmightuse.”
“Oh,no,ColonelMelchett,that’swhereyou’rewrong.Toaman’seye,perhaps,itlookedlikeanordinarypin,butitwasn’t.Itwasaspecialpin,averythinpin,thekindyoubuybythebox,thekindusedmostlybydressmakers.”
Melchettstaredather,afaintlightofcomprehensionbreakinginonhim.MissMarplenoddedherheadseveraltimes,eagerly.
“Yes,ofcourse.Itseemstomesoobvious.Shewasinherkimonobecauseshewasgoingtotryonhernewdress,andshewentintothefrontroom,andMissPolittjustsaidsomethingaboutmeasurementsandputthetapemeasureroundherneck—andthenallshe’dhavetodowastocrossitandpull—quiteeasy,soI’veheard.Andthen,ofcourse,she’dgooutsideandpullthedoortoandstandthereknockingasthoughshe’djustarrived.Butthepinshowsshe’dalreadybeeninthehouse.”
“AnditwasMissPolittwhotelephonedtoSpenlow?”
“Yes.Fromthepostofficeattwothirty—justwhenthebuscomesandthepostofficewouldbeempty.”
ColonelMelchettsaid,“ButmydearMissMarple,why?Inheaven’sname,why?Youcan’thaveamurderwithoutamotive.”
“Well,Ithink,youknow,ColonelMelchett,fromallI’veheard,thatthecrimedatesfromalongtimeback.Itremindsme,youknow,ofmytwocousins,AntonyandGordon.WhateverAntonydidalwayswentrightforhim,andwithpoorGordonitwasjusttheotherwayabout.Racehorseswentlame,andstockswentdown,andpropertydepreciated.AsIseeit,thetwowomenwereinittogether.”
“Inwhat?”
“Therobbery.Longago.Veryvaluableemeralds,soI’veheard.Thelady’smaidandthetweeny.Becauseonethinghasn’tbeenexplained—how,whenthetweenymarriedthegardener,didtheyhaveenoughmoneytosetupaflowershop?
“Theansweris,itwashershareofthe—theswag,Ithinkistherightexpression.Everythingshedidturnedoutwell.Moneymademoney.Buttheotherone,thelady’smaid,musthavebeenunlucky.Shecamedowntobeingjustavillagedressmaker.Thentheymetagain.Quiteallrightatfirst,Iexpect,untilMr.TedGerardcameonthescene.
“Mrs.Spenlow,yousee,wasalreadysufferingfromconscience,andwasinclinedtobeemotionallyreligious.Thisyoungmannodoubturgedherto‘faceup’andto‘comeclean’andIdaresayshewasstrunguptodoit.ButMissPolittdidn’tseeitthatway.Allshesawwasthatshemightgotoprisonforarobberyshehadcommittedyearsago.Soshemadeuphermindtoputastoptoitall.I’mafraid,youknow,thatshewasalwaysratherawickedwoman.Idon’tbelieveshe’dhaveturnedahairifthatnice,stupidMr.Spenlowhadbeenhanged.”
ColonelMelchettsaidslowly,“Wecan—er—verifyyourtheory—uptoapoint.TheidentityofthePolittwomanwiththelady’smaidattheAbercrombies’,but—”
MissMarplereassuredhim.“Itwillbeallquiteeasy.She’sthekindofwomanwhowillbreakdownatoncewhenshe’staxedwiththetruth.Andthen,yousee,I’vegothertapemeasure.I—er—abstractedityesterdaywhenIwastryingon.Whenshemissesitandthinksthepolicehavegotit—well,she’squiteanignorantwomanandshe’llthinkitwillprovethecaseagainstherinsomeway.”
Shesmiledathimencouragingly.“You’llhavenotrouble,Icanassureyou.”ItwasthetoneinwhichhisfavouriteaunthadonceassuredhimthathecouldnotfailtopasshisentranceexaminationintoSandhurst.
Andhehadpassed.
Four
THECASEOFTHEPERFECTMAID
Oh,ifyouplease,madam,couldIspeaktoyouamoment?”
Itmightbethoughtthatthisrequestwasinthenatureofanabsurdity,sinceEdna,MissMarple’slittlemaid,wasactuallyspeakingtohermistressatthemoment.
Recognizingtheidiom,however,MissMarplesaidpromptly,“Certainly,Edna,comeinandshutthedoor.Whatisit?”
Obedientlyshuttingthedoor,Ednaadvancedintotheroom,pleatedthecornerofherapronbetweenherfingers,andswallowedonceortwice.
“Yes,Edna?”saidMissMarpleencouragingly.
“Oh,please,ma’am,it’smycousin,Gladdie.”
“Dearme,”saidMissMarple,hermindleapingtotheworst—and,alas,themostusualconclusion.“Not—notintrouble?”
Ednahastenedtoreassureher.“Oh,no,ma’am,nothingofthatkind.Gladdie’snotthatkindofgirl.It’sjustthatshe’supset.Yousee,she’slostherplace.”
“Dearme,Iamsorrytohearthat.ShewasatOldHall,wasn’tshe,withtheMiss—Misses—Skinner?”
“Yes,ma’am,that’sright,ma’am.AndGladdie’sveryupsetaboutit—veryupsetindeed.”
“Gladyshaschangedplacesratheroftenbefore,though,hasn’tshe?”
“Oh,yes,ma’am.She’salwaysoneforachange,Gladdieis.Sheneverseemstogetreallysettled,ifyouknowwhatImean.Butshe’salwaysbeentheonetogivethenotice,yousee!”
“Andthistimeit’stheotherwayround?”askedMissMarpledryly.
“Yes,ma’am,andit’supsetGladdiesomethingawful.”
MissMarplelookedslightlysurprised.HerrecollectionofGladys,whohadoccasionallycometodrinkteainthekitchenonher“daysout,”wasastout,gigglinggirlofunshakablyequabletemperament.
Ednawenton.“Yousee,ma’am,it’sthewayithappened—thewayMissSkinnerlooked.”
“How,”enquiredMissMarplepatiently,“didMissSkinnerlook?”
ThistimeEdnagotwellawaywithhernewsbulletin.
“Oh,ma’am,itwaseversuchashocktoGladdie.Yousee,oneofMissEmily’sbroocheswasmissing,andsuchahueandcryforitasneverwas,andofcoursenobodylikesathinglikethattohappen;it’supsetting,ma’am,ifyouknowwhatImean.AndGladdie’shelpedsearcheverywhere,andtherewasMissLaviniasayingshewasgoingtothepoliceaboutit,andthenitturnedupagain,pushedrighttothebackofadrawerinthedressingtable,andverythankfulGladdiewas.
“Andtheverynextdayaseverwasaplategotbroken,andMissLaviniashebouncedoutrightawayandtoldGladdietotakeamonth’snotice.AndwhatGladdiefeelsisitcouldn’thavebeentheplateandthatMissLaviniawasjustmakinganexcuseofthat,andthatitmustbebecauseofthebroochandtheythinkasshetookitandputitbackwhenthepolicewasmentioned,andGladdiewouldn’tdosuchathing,notnevershewouldn’t,andwhatshefeelsisasitwillgetroundandtellagainstherandit’saveryseriousthingforagirl,asyouknow,ma’am.”
MissMarplenodded.Thoughhavingnoparticularlikingforthebouncing,self-opinionatedGladys,shewasquitesureofthegirl’sintrinsichonestyandcouldwellimaginethattheaffairmusthaveupsether.
Ednasaidwistfully,“Isuppose,ma’am,thereisn’tanythingyoucoulddoaboutit?Gladdie’sineversuchataking.”
“Tellhernottobesilly,”saidMissMarplecrisply.“Ifshedidn’ttakethebrooch—whichI’msureshedidn’t—thenshehasnocausetobeupset.”
“It’llgetabout,”saidEdnadismally.
MissMarplesaid,“I—er—amgoingupthatwaythisafternoon.I’llhaveawordwiththeMissesSkinner.”
“Oh,thankyou,madam,”saidEdna.
OldHallwasabigVictorianhousesurroundedbywoodsandparkland.Sinceithadbeenprovedunlettableandunsaleableasitwas,anenterprisingspeculatorhaddivideditintofourflatswithacentralhot-watersystem,andtheuseof“thegrounds”tobeheldincommonbythetenants.Theexperimenthadbeensatisfactory.Arichandeccentricoldladyandhermaidoccupiedoneflat.Theoldladyhadapassionforbirdsandentertainedafeatheredgatheringtomealseveryday.AretiredIndianjudgeandhiswiferentedasecond.Averyyoungcouple,recentlymarried,occupiedthethird,andthefourthhadbeentakenonlytwomonthsagobytwomaidenladiesofthenameofSkinner.Thefoursetsoftenantswereonlyonthemostdistanttermswitheachother,sincenoneofthemhadanythingincommon.Thelandlordhadbeenheardtosaythatthiswasanexcellentthing.Whathedreadedwerefriendshipsfollowedbyestrangementsandsubsequentcomplaintstohim.
MissMarplewasacquaintedwithallthetenants,thoughsheknewnoneofthemwell.TheelderMissSkinner,MissLavinia,waswhatmightbetermedtheworkingmemberofthefirm,MissEmily,theyounger,spentmostofhertimeinbedsufferingfromvariouscomplaintswhich,intheopinionofSt.MaryMead,werelargelyimaginary.OnlyMissLaviniabelieveddevoutlyinhersister’smartyrdomandpatienceunderaffliction,andwillinglyranerrandsandtrottedupanddowntothevillageforthingsthat“mysisterhadsuddenlyfancied.”
ItwastheviewofSt.MaryMeadthatifMissEmilysufferedhalfasmuchasshesaidshedid,shewouldhavesentforDoctorHaydocklongago.ButMissEmily,whenthiswashintedtoher,shuthereyesinasuperiorwayandmurmuredthathercasewasnotasimpleone—thebestspecialistsinLondonhadbeenbaffledbyit—andthatawonderfulnewmanhadputheronamostrevolutionarycourseoftreatmentandthatshereallyhopedherhealthwouldimproveunderit.NohumdrumGPcouldpossiblyunderstandhercase.
“Andit’smyopinion,”saidtheoutspokenMissHartnell,“thatshe’sverywisenottosendforhim.DearDoctorHaydock,inthatbreezymannerofhis,wouldtellherthattherewasnothingthematterwithherandtogetupandnotmakeafuss!Doheralotofgood!”
Failingsucharbitrarytreatment,however,MissEmilycontinuedtolieonsofas,tosurroundherselfwithstrangelittlepillboxes,andtorejectnearlyeverythingthathadbeencookedforherandaskforsomethingelse—usuallysomethingdifficultandinconvenienttoget
ThedoorwasopenedtoMissMarpleby“Gladdie,”lookingmoredepressedthanMissMarplehadeverthoughtpossible.Inthesittingroom(aquarterofthelatedrawingroom,whichhadbeenpartitionedintoadiningroom,drawingroom,bathroom,andhousemaid’scupboard),MissLaviniarosetogreetMissMarple.
LaviniaSkinnerwasatall,gaunt,bonyfemaleoffifty.Shehadagruffvoiceandanabruptmanner.
“Nicetoseeyou,”shesaid.“Emily’slyingdown—feelinglowtoday,poordear.Hopeshe’llseeyou,itwouldcheerherup,buttherearetimeswhenshedoesn’tfeeluptoseeinganybody.Poordear,she’swonderfullypatient.”
MissMarplerespondedpolitely.ServantswerethemaintopicofconversationinSt.MaryMead,soitwasnotdifficulttoleadtheconversationinthatdirection.MissMarplesaidshehadheardthatthatnicegirl,GladysHolmes,wasleaving.
MissLavinianodded.“Wednesdayweek.Brokethings,youknow.Can’thavethat.”
MissMarplesighedandsaidweallhadtoputupwiththingsnowadays.Itwassodifficulttogetgirlstocometothecountry.DidMissSkinnerreallythinkitwaswisetopartwithGladys?
“Knowit’sdifficulttogetservants,”admittedMissLavinia.“TheDevereuxshaven’tgotanybody—butthen,Idon’twonder—alwaysquarrelling,jazzonallnight—mealsanytime—thatgirlknowsnothingofhousekeeping.Ipityherhusband!ThentheLarkinshavejustlosttheirmaid.Ofcourse,whatwiththejudge’sIndiantemperandhiswantingchotahazri,ashecallsit,atsixinthemorningandMrs.Larkinalwaysfussing,Idon’twonderatthat,either.Mrs.Carmichael’sJanetisafixtureofcourse—thoughinmyopinionshe’sthemostdisagreeablewoman,andabsolutelybulliestheoldlady.”
“Thendon’tyouthinkyoumightreconsideryourdecisionaboutGladys?Shereallyisanicegirl.Iknowallherfamily;veryhonestandsuperior.”
MissLaviniashookherhead.
“I’vegotmyreasons,”shesaidimportantly.
MissMarplemurmured,“Youmissedabrooch,Iunderstand—”
“Now,whohasbeentalking?Isupposethegirlhas.Quitefrankly,I’malmostcertainshetookit.Andthengotfrightenedandputitback—but,ofcourse,onecan’tsayanythingunlessoneissure.”Shechangedthesubject.“DocomeandseeEmily,MissMarple.I’msureitwoulddohergood.”
MissMarplefollowedmeeklytowhereMissLaviniaknockedonadoor,wasbiddenenter,andusheredherguestintothebestroomintheflat,mostofthelightofwhichwasexcludedbyhalf-drawnblinds.MissEmilywaslyinginbed,apparentlyenjoyingthehalfgloomandherownindefinitesufferings.
Thedimlightshowedhertobeathin,indecisive-lookingcreature,withagooddealofgreyish-yellowhairuntidilywoundaroundherheadanderuptingintocurls,thewholethinglookinglikeabird’snestofwhichnoself-respectingbirdcouldbeproud.TherewasasmellintheroomofEaudeCologne,stalebiscuits,andcamphor.
Withhalf-closedeyesandathin,weakvoice,EmilySkinnerexplainedthatthiswas“oneofherbaddays.”
“Theworstofillhealthis,”saidMissEmilyinamelancholytone,“thatoneknowswhataburdenoneistoeveryonearoundone.
“Laviniaisverygoodtome.Lavviedear,Idosohategivingtroublebutifmyhot-waterbottlecouldonlybefilledinthewayIlikeit—toofullitweighsonmeso—ontheotherhand,ifitisnotsufficientlyfilled,itgetscoldimmediately!”
“I’msorry,dear.Giveittome.Iwillemptyalittleout.”
“Perhaps,ifyou’redoingthat,itmightberefilled.Therearenorusksinthehouse,Isuppose—no,no,itdoesn’tmatter.Icandowithout.Someweakteaandasliceoflemon—nolemons?No,really,Icouldn’tdrinkteawithoutlemon.Ithinkthemilkwasslightlyturnedthismorning.Ithasputmeagainstmilkinmytea.Itdoesn’tmatter.Icandowithoutmytea.OnlyIdofeelsoweak.Oysters,theysay,arenourishing.IwonderifIcouldfancyafew?No,no,toomuchbothertogetholdofthemsolateintheday.Icanfastuntiltomorrow.”
Lavinialefttheroommurmuringsomethingincoherentaboutbicyclingdowntothevillage.
MissEmilysmiledfeeblyatherguestandremarkedthatshedidhategivinganyoneanytrouble.
MissMarpletoldEdnathateveningthatshewasafraidherembassyhadmetwithnosuccess.
ShewasrathertroubledtofindthatrumoursastoGladys’sdishonestywerealreadygoingaroundthevillage.
Inthepostoffice,MissWetherbytackledher.“MydearJane,theygaveherawrittenreferencesayingshewaswillingandsoberandrespectable,butsayingnothingabouthonesty.Thatseemstomemostsignificant!Iheartherewassometroubleaboutabrooch.Ithinktheremustbesomethinginit,youknow,becauseonedoesn’tletaservantgonowadaysunlessit’ssomethingrathergrave.They’llfinditmostdifficulttogetanyoneelse.GirlssimplywillnotgotoOldHall.They’renervouscominghomeontheirdaysout.You’llsee,theSkinnerswon’tfindanyoneelse,andthen,perhaps,thatdreadfulhypochondriacsisterwillhavetogetupanddosomething!”
GreatwasthechagrinofthevillagewhenitwasmadeknownthattheMissesSkinnerhadengaged,fromanagency,anewmaidwho,byallaccounts,wasaperfectparagon.
“Athree-years”referencerecommendinghermostwarmly,sheprefersthecountry,andactuallyaskslesswagesthanGladys.Ireallyfeelwehavebeenmostfortunate.”
“Well,really,”saidMissMarple,towhomthesedetailswereimpartedbyMissLaviniainthefishmonger’sshop.“Itdoesseemtoogoodtobetrue.”
ItthenbecametheopinionofSt.MaryMeadthattheparagonwouldcryoffatthelastminuteandfailtoarrive.
Noneoftheseprognosticationscametrue,however,andthevillagewasabletoobservethedomestictreasure,byname,MaryHiggins,drivingthroughthevillageinReed’staxitoOldHall.Ithadtobeadmittedthatherappearancewasgood.Amostrespectable-lookingwoman,veryneatlydressed.
WhenMissMarplenextvisitedOldHall,ontheoccasionofrecruitingstallholdersforthevicaragefete,MaryHigginsopenedthedoor.Shewascertainlyamostsuperior-lookingmaid,ataguessfortyyearsofage,withneatblackhair,rosycheeks,aplumpfigurediscreetlyarrayedinblackwithawhiteapronandcap—“quitethegood,old-fashionedtypeofservant,”asMissMarpleexplainedafterwards,andwiththeproper,inaudiblerespectfulvoice,sodifferentfromtheloudbutadenoidalaccentsofGladys.
MissLaviniawaslookingfarlessharassedthanusualand,althoughsheregrettedthatshecouldnottakeastallowingtoherpreoccupationwithhersister,sheneverthelesstenderedahandsomemonetarycontribution,andpromisedtoproduceaconsignmentofpen-wipersandbabies’socks.
MissMarplecommentedonherairofwell-being.
“IreallyfeelIoweagreatdealtoMary,IamsothankfulIhadtheresolutiontogetridofthatothergirl.Maryisreallyinvaluable.Cooksnicelyandwaitsbeautifullyandkeepsourlittleflatscrupulouslyclean—mattressesturnedovereveryday.AndsheisreallywonderfulwithEmily!”
MissMarplehastilyenquiredafterEmily.
“Oh,poordear,shehasbeenverymuchundertheweatherlately.Shecan’thelpit,ofcourse,butitreallymakesthingsalittledifficultsometimes.Wantingcertainthingscookedandthen,whentheycome,sayingshecan’teatnow—andthenwantingthemagainhalfanhourlaterandeverythingspoiledandhavingtobedoneagain.Itmakes,ofcourse,alotofwork—butfortunatelyMarydoesnotseemtomindatall.She’susedtowaitingoninvalids,shesays,andunderstandsthem.Itissuchacomfort.”
“Dearme,”saidMissMarple.“Youarefortunate.”
“Yes,indeed.IreallyfeelMaryhasbeensenttousasananswertoprayer.”
“Shesoundstome,”saidMissMarple,“almosttoogoodtobetrue.Ishould—well,IshouldbealittlecarefulifIwereyou.”
LaviniaSkinnerfailedtoperceivethepointofthisremark.Shesaid,“Oh!IassureyouIdoallIcantomakehercomfortable.Idon’tknowwhatIshoulddoifsheleft.”
“Idon’texpectshe’llleaveuntilshe’sreadytoleave,”saidMissMarpleandstaredveryhardatherhostess.
MissLaviniasaid,“Ifonehasnodomesticworries,ittakessuchaloadoffone’smind,doesn’tit?HowisyourlittleEdnashaping?”
“She’sdoingquitenicely.Notmuchhead,ofcourse.NotlikeyourMary.Still,IdoknowallaboutEdnabecauseshe’savillagegirl.”
Asshewentoutintothehallsheheardtheinvalid’svoicefretfullyraised.“Thiscompresshasbeenallowedtogetquitedry—DoctorAllertonparticularlysaidmoisturecontinuallyrenewed.There,there,leaveit.Iwantacupofteaandaboiledegg—boiledonlythreeminutesandahalf,remember,andsendMissLaviniatome.”
TheefficientMaryemergedfromthebedroomand,sayingtoLavinia,“MissEmilyisaskingforyou,madam,”proceededtoopenthedoorforMissMarple,helpingherintohercoatandhandingherherumbrellainthemostirreproachablefashion.
MissMarpletooktheumbrella,droppedit,triedtopickitup,anddroppedherbag,whichflewopen.Marypolitelyretrievedvariousoddsandends—ahandkerchief,anengagementbook,anold-fashionedleatherpurse,twoshillings,threepennies,andastripedpieceofpeppermintrock.
MissMarplereceivedthelastwithsomesignsofconfusion.
“Oh,dear,thatmusthavebeenMrs.Clement’slittleboy.Hewassuckingit,Iremember,andhetookmybagtoplaywith.Hemusthaveputitinside.It’sterriblysticky,isn’tit?”
“ShallItakeit,madam?”
“Oh,wouldyou?Thankyousomuch.”
Marystoopedtoretrievethelastitem,asmallmirror,uponrecoveringwhichMissMarpleexclaimedfervently,“Howlucky,now,thatthatisn’tbroken.”
Shethereupondeparted,Marystandingpolitelybythedoorholdingapieceofstripedrockwithacompletelyexpressionlessface.
FortendayslongerSt.MaryMeadhadtoendurehearingoftheexcellenciesofMissLavinia’sandMissEmily’streasure.
Ontheeleventhday,thevillageawoketoitsbigthrill.
Mary,theparagon,wasmissing!Herbedhadnotbeensleptin,andthefrontdoorwasfoundajar.Shehadslippedoutquietlyduringthenight.
AndnotMaryalonewasmissing!TwobroochesandfiveringsofMissLavinia’s;threerings,apendant,abracelet,andfourbroochesofMissEmily’sweremissing,also!
Itwasthebeginningofachapterofcatastrophe.
YoungMrs.Devereuxhadlostherdiamondswhichshekeptinanunlockeddrawerandalsosomevaluablefursgiventoherasaweddingpresent.Thejudgeandhiswifealsohadhadjewellerytakenandacertainamountofmoney.Mrs.Carmichaelwasthegreatestsufferer.Notonlyhadshesomeveryvaluablejewelsbutshealsokeptintheflatalargesumofmoneywhichhadgone.IthadbeenJanet’seveningout,andhermistresswasinthehabitofwalkingroundthegardensatduskcallingtothebirdsandscatteringcrumbs.ItseemedclearthatMary,theperfectmaid,hadhadkeystofitalltheflats!
Therewas,itmustbeconfessed,acertainamountofill-naturedpleasureinSt.MaryMead.MissLaviniahadboastedsomuchofhermarvellousMary.
“Andallthetime,mydear,justacommonthief!”
Interestingrevelationsfollowed.NotonlyhadMarydisappearedintotheblue,buttheagencywhohadprovidedherandvouchedforhercredentialswasalarmedtofindthattheMaryHigginswhohadappliedtothemandwhosereferencestheyhadtakenuphad,toallintentsandpurposes,neverexisted.Itwasthenameofabonafideservantwhohadlivedwiththebonafidesisterofadean,buttherealMaryHigginswasexistingpeacefullyinaplaceinCornwall.
“Damnedclever,thewholething,”InspectorSlackwasforcedtoadmit.“And,ifyouaskme,thatwomanworkswithagang.TherewasacaseofmuchthesamekindinNorthumberlandayearago.Stuffwasnevertraced,andtheynevercaughther.However,we’lldobetterthanthatinMuchBenham!”
InspectorSlackwasalwaysaconfidentman.
Nevertheless,weekspassed,andMaryHigginsremainedtriumphantlyatlarge.InvainInspectorSlackredoubledthatenergythatsobeliedhisname.
MissLaviniaremainedtearful.MissEmilywassoupset,andfeltsoalarmedbyherconditionthatsheactuallysentforDoctorHaydock.
ThewholeofthevillagewasterriblyanxioustoknowwhathethoughtofMissEmily’sclaimstoillhealth,butnaturallycouldnotaskhim.Satisfactorydatacametohandonthesubject,however,throughMr.Meek,thechemist’sassistant,whowaswalkingoutwithClara,Mrs.Price-Ridley’smaid.ItwasthenknownthatDoctorHaydockhadprescribedamixtureofasafoetidaandvalerianwhich,accordingtoMr.Meek,wasthestockremedyformalingerersinthearmy!
SoonafterwardsitwaslearnedthatMissEmily,notrelishingthemedicalattentionshehadhad,wasdeclaringthatinthestateofherhealthshefeltitherdutytobenearthespecialistinLondonwhounderstoodhercase.Itwas,shesaid,onlyfairtoLavinia.
Theflatwasputupforsubletting.
ItwasafewdaysafterthatthatMissMarple,ratherpinkandflustered,calledatthepolicestationinMuchBenhamandaskedforInspectorSlack.
InspectorSlackdidnotlikeMissMarple.ButhewasawarethattheChiefConstable,ColonelMelchett,didnotsharethatopinion.Rathergrudgingly,therefore,hereceivedher.
“Goodafternoon,MissMarple,whatcanIdoforyou?”
“Oh,dear,”saidMissMarple,“I’mafraidyou’reinahurry.”
“Lotsofworkon,”saidInspectorSlack,“butIcanspareafewmoments.”
“Ohdear,”saidMissMarple.“IhopeIshallbeabletoputwhatIsayproperly.Sodifficult,youknow,toexplainoneself,don’tyouthink?No,perhapsyoudon’t.Butyousee,nothavingbeeneducatedinthemodernstyle—justagoverness,youknow,whotaughtonethedatesofthekingsofEnglandandgeneralknowledge—DoctorBrewer—threekindsofdiseasesofwheat—blight,mildew—nowwhatwasthethird—wasitsmut?”
“Doyouwanttotalkaboutsmut?”askedInspectorSlackandthenblushed.
“Oh,no,no.”MissMarplehastilydisclaimedanywishtotalkaboutsmut.“Justanillustration,youknow.Andhowneedlesaremade,andallthat.Discursive,youknow,butnotteachingonetokeeptothepoint.WhichiswhatIwanttodo.It’saboutMissSkinner’smaid,Gladys,youknow.”
“MaryHiggins,”saidInspectorSlack.
“Oh,yes,thesecondmaid.Butit’sGladysHolmesImean—ratheranimpertinentgirlandfartoopleasedwithherselfbutreallystrictlyhonest,andit’ssoimportantthatthatshouldberecognized.”
“NochargeagainsthersofarasIknow,”saidtheinspector.
“No,Iknowthereisn’tacharge—butthatmakesitworse.Because,yousee,peoplegoonthinkingthings.Oh,dear—IknewIshouldexplainthingsbadly.WhatIreallymeanisthattheimportantthingistofindMaryHiggins.”
“Certainly,”saidInspectorSlack.“Haveyouanyideasonthesubject?”
“Well,asamatteroffact,Ihave,”saidMissMarple.“MayIaskyouaquestion?Arefingerprintsofnousetoyou?”
“Ah,”saidInspectorSlack,“that’swhereshewasabittooartfulforus.Didmostofherworkinrubberglovesorhousemaid’sgloves,itseems.Andshe’dbeencareful—wipedoffeverythinginherbedroomandonthesink.Couldn’tfindasinglefingerprintintheplace!”
“Ifyoudidhavefingerprints,wouldithelp?”
“Itmight,madam.TheymaybeknownattheYard.Thisisn’therfirstjob,I’dsay!”
MissMarplenoddedbrightly.Sheopenedherbagandextractedasmallcardboardbox.Insideit,wedgedincottonwool,wasasmallmirror.
“Frommyhandbag,”saidMissMarple.“Themaid’sprintsareonit.Ithinktheyshouldbesatisfactory—shetouchedanextremelystickysubstanceamomentpreviously.”
InspectorSlackstared.“Didyougetherfingerprintsonpurpose?”
“Ofcourse.”
“Yoususpectedherthen?”
“Well,youknow,itdidstrikemethatshewasalittletoogoodtobetrue.IpracticallytoldMissLaviniaso.Butshesimplywouldn’ttakethehint!I’mafraid,youknow,Inspector,thatIdon’tbelieveinparagons.Mostofushaveourfaults—anddomesticserviceshowsthemupveryquickly!”
“Well,”saidInspectorSlack,recoveringhisbalance,“I’mobligedtoyou,I’msure.We’llsendtheseuptotheYardandseewhattheyhavetosay.”
Hestopped.MissMarplehadputherheadalittleononesideandwasregardinghimwithagooddealofmeaning.
“Youwouldn’tconsider,Isuppose,Inspector,lookingalittlenearerhome?”
“Whatdoyoumean,MissMarple?”
“It’sverydifficulttoexplain,butwhenyoucomeacrossapeculiarthingyounoticeit.Although,often,peculiarthingsmaybethemeresttrifles.I’vefeltthatallalong,youknow;ImeanaboutGladysandthebrooch.She’sanhonestgirl;shedidn’ttakethatbrooch.ThenwhydidMissSkinnerthinkshedid?MissSkinner’snotafool;farfromit!Whywasshesoanxioustoletagirlgowhowasagoodservantwhenservantsarehardtoget?Itwaspeculiar,youknow.SoIwondered.Iwonderedagooddeal.AndInoticedanotherpeculiarthing!MissEmily’sahypochondriac,butshe’sthefirsthypochondriacwhohasn’tsentforsomedoctororotheratonce.Hypochondriacslovedoctors,MissEmilydidn’t!”
“Whatareyousuggesting,MissMarple?”
“Well,I’msuggesting,youknow,thatMissLaviniaandMissEmilyarepeculiarpeople.MissEmilyspendsnearlyallhertimeinadarkroom.Andifthathairofhersisn’tawigI—I’lleatmyownbackswitch!AndwhatIsayisthis—it’sperfectlypossibleforathin,pale,grey-haired,whiningwomantobethesameasablack-haired,rosy-cheeked,plumpwoman.AndnobodythatIcanfindeversawMissEmilyandMaryHigginsatoneandthesametime.
“Plentyoftimetogetimpressionsofallthekeys,plentyoftimetofindoutallabouttheothertenants,andthen—getridofthelocalgirl.MissEmilytakesabriskwalkacrosscountryonenightandarrivesatthestationasMaryHigginsnextday.Andthen,attherightmoment,MaryHigginsdisappears,andoffgoesthehueandcryafterher.I’lltellyouwhereyou’llfindher,Inspector.OnMissEmilySkinner’ssofa!Getherfingerprintsifyoudon’tbelieveme,butyou’llfindI’mright!Acoupleofcleverthieves,that’swhattheSkinnersare—andnodoubtinleaguewithacleverpostandrailsorfenceorwhateveryoucallit.Buttheywon’tgetawaywithitthistime!I’mnotgoingtohaveoneofourvillagegirls’characterforhonestytakenawaylikethat!GladysHolmesisashonestastheday,andeverybody’sgoingtoknowit!Goodafternoon!”
MissMarplehadstalkedoutbeforeInspectorSlackhadrecovered.
“Whew?”hemuttered.“Iwonderifshe’sright?”
HesoonfoundoutthatMissMarplewasrightagain.
ColonelMelchettcongratulatedSlackonhisefficiency,andMissMarplehadGladyscometoteawithEdnaandspoketoherseriouslyonsettlingdowninagoodsituationwhenshegotone.
Five
THECASEOFTHECARETAKER
Well,”demandedDoctorHaydockofhispatient.“Andhowgoesittoday?”
MissMarplesmiledathimwanlyfrompillows.
“Isuppose,really,thatI’mbetter,”sheadmitted,“butIfeelsoterriblydepressed.Ican’thelpfeelinghowmuchbetteritwouldhavebeenifIhaddied.Afterall,I’manoldwoman.Nobodywantsmeorcaresaboutme.”
DoctorHaydockinterruptedwithhisusualbrusqueness.“Yes,yes,typicalafter-reactionofthistypeofflu.Whatyouneedissomethingtotakeyououtofyourself.Amentaltonic.”
MissMarplesighedandshookherhead.
“Andwhat’smore,”continuedDoctorHaydock,“I’vebroughtmymedicinewithme!”
Hetossedalongenvelopeontothebed
“Justthethingforyou.Thekindofpuzzlethatisrightupyourstreet.”
“Apuzzle?”MissMarplelookedinterested.
“Literaryeffortofmine,”saidthedoctor,blushingalittle.“Triedtomakearegularstoryofit.‘Hesaid,’‘shesaid,’‘thegirlthought,’etc.Factsofthestoryaretrue.”
“Butwhyapuzzle?”askedMissMarple
DoctorHaydockgrinned.“Becausetheinterpretationisuptoyou.Iwanttoseeifyou’reascleverasyoualwaysmakeout.”
WiththatParthianshothedeparted.
MissMarplepickedupthemanuscriptandbegantoread.
“Andwhereisthebride?”askedMissHarmongenially.ThevillagewasallagogtoseetherichandbeautifulyoungwifethatHarryLaxtonhadbroughtbackfromabroad.TherewasageneralindulgentfeelingthatHarry—wickedyoungscapegrace—hadhadalltheluck.EveryonehadalwaysfeltindulgenttowardsHarry.EventheownersofwindowsthathadsufferedfromhisindiscriminateuseofacatapulthadfoundtheirindignationdissipatedbyyoungHarry’sabjectexpressionofregret.Hehadbrokenwindows,robbedorchards,poachedrabbits,andlaterhadrunintodebt,gotentangledwiththelocaltobacconist’sdaughter—beendisentangledandsentofftoAfrica—andthevillageasrepresentedbyvariousageingspinstershadmurmuredindulgently.“Ah,well!Wildoats!He’llsettledown!”Andnow,sureenough,theprodigalhadreturned—notinaffliction,butintriumph.HarryLaxtonhad“madegood”asthesayinggoes.Hehadpulledhimselftogether,workedhard,andhadfinallymetandsuccessfullywooedayoungAnglo-FrenchgirlwhowasthepossessorofaconsiderablefortuneHarrymighthavelivedinLondon,orpurchasedanestateinsomefashionablehuntingcounty,buthepreferredtocomebacktothepartoftheworldthatwashometohim.Andthere,inthemostromanticway,hepurchasedthederelictestateinthedowerhouseofwhichhehadpassedhischildhood.KingsdeanHousehadbeenunoccupiedfornearlyseventyyears.Ithadgraduallyfallenintodecayandabandon.Anelderlycaretakerandhiswifelivedintheonehabitablecornerofit.Itwasavast,unprepossessinggrandiosemansion,thegardensovergrownwithrankvegetationandthetreeshemmingitinlikesomegloomyenchanter’sden.Thedowerhousewasapleasant,unpretentioushouseandhadbeenletforalongtermofyearstoMajorLaxton,Harry’sfather.Asaboy,HarryhadroamedovertheKingsdeanestateandkneweveryinchofthetangledwoods,andtheoldhouseitselfhadalwaysfascinatedhim.MajorLaxtonhaddiedsomeyearsago,soitmighthavebeenthoughtthatHarrywouldhavehadnotiestobringhimback—neverthelessitwastothehomeofhisboyhoodthatHarrybroughthisbride.TheruinedoldKingsdeanHousewaspulleddown.Anarmyofbuildersandcontractorsswoopeddownupontheplace,andinalmostamiraculouslyshortspaceoftime—somarvellouslydoeswealthtell—thenewhouserosewhiteandgleamingamongthetrees.Nextcameaposseofgardenersandafterthemaprocessionoffurniturevans.Thehousewasready.Servantsarrived.Lastly,acostlylimousinedepositedHarryandMrs.Harryatthefrontdoor.Thevillagerushedtocall,andMrs.Price,whoownedthelargesthouse,andwhoconsideredherselftoleadsocietyintheplace,sentoutcardsofinvitationforaparty“tomeetthebride.”Itwasagreatevent.Severalladieshadnewfrocksfortheoccasion.Everyonewasexcited,curious,anxioustoseethisfabulouscreature.Theysaiditwasallsolikeafairystory!MissHarmon,weather-beaten,heartyspinster,threwoutherquestionasshesqueezedherwaythroughthecrowdeddrawingroomdoor.LittleMissBrent,athin,acidulatedspinster,flutteredoutinformation.“Oh,mydear,quitecharming.Suchprettymanners.Andquiteyoung.Really,youknow,itmakesonefeelquiteenvioustoseesomeonewhohaseverythinglikethat.Goodlooksandmoneyandbreeding—mostdistinguished,nothingintheleastcommonabouther—anddearHarrysodevoted!”“Ah,”saidMissHarmon,“it’searlydaysyet!”MissBrent’sthinnosequiveredappreciatively.“Oh,mydear,doyoureallythink—”“WeallknowwhatHarryis,”saidMissHarmon.“Weknowwhathewas!ButIexpectnow—”“Ah,”saidMissHarmon,“menarealwaysthesame.Onceagaydeceiver,alwaysagaydeceiver.Iknowthem.”“Dear,dear.Pooryoungthing.”MissBrentlookedmuchhappier.“Yes,Iexpectshe’llhavetroublewithhim.Someoneoughtreallytowarnher.Iwonderifshe’sheardanythingoftheoldstory?”“Itseemssoveryunfair,”saidMissBrent,“thatsheshouldknownothing.Soawkward.Especiallywithonlytheonechemist’sshopinthevillage.”Fortheerstwhiletobacconist’sdaughterwasnowmarriedtoMr.Edge,thechemist.“Itwouldbesomuchnicer,”saidMissBrent,“ifMrs.LaxtonweretodealwithBootsinMuchBenham.”“Idaresay,”saidMissHarmon,“thatHarryLaxtonwillsuggestthathimself.”Andagainasignificantlookpassedbetweenthem.“ButIcertainlythink,”saidMissHarmon,“thatsheoughttoknow.”“Beasts!”saidClariceVaneindignantlytoheruncle,DoctorHaydock.“Absolutebeastssomepeopleare.”Helookedathercuriously.Shewasatall,darkgirl,handsome,warmheartedandimpulsive.Herbigbrowneyeswerealightnowwithindignationasshesaid,“Allthesecats—sayingthings—hintingthings.”“AboutHarryLaxton?”“Yes,abouthisaffairwiththetobacconist’sdaughter.”“Oh,that!”Thedoctorshruggedhisshoulders.“Agreatmanyyoungmenhaveaffairsofthatkind.”“Ofcoursetheydo.Andit’sallover.Sowhyharponit?Andbringitupyearsafter?It’slikeghoulsfeastingondeadbodies.”“Idaresay,mydear,itdoesseemlikethattoyou.Butyousee,theyhaveverylittletotalkaboutdownhere,andsoI’mafraidtheydotendtodwelluponpastscandals.ButI’mcurioustoknowwhyitupsetsyousomuch?”ClariceVanebitherlipandflushed.Shesaid,inacuriouslymuffledvoice.“They—theylooksohappy.TheLaxtons,Imean.They’reyoungandinlove,andit’sallsolovelyforthem.Ihatetothinkofitbeingspoiledbywhispersandhintsandinnuendoesandgeneralbeastliness.”“H’m.Isee.”Claricewenton.“Hewastalkingtomejustnow.He’ssohappyandeagerandexcitedand—yes,thrilled—athavinggothisheart’sdesireandrebuiltKingsdean.He’slikeachildaboutitall.Andshe—well,Idon’tsupposeanythinghasevergonewronginherwholelife.She’salwayshadeverything.You’veseenher.Whatdidyouthinkofher?”Thedoctordidnotansweratonce.Forotherpeople,LouiseLaxtonmightbeanobjectofenvy.Aspoileddarlingoffortune.Tohimshehadbroughtonlytherefrainofapopularsongheardmanyyearsago,Poorlittlerichgirl—Asmall,delicatefigure,withflaxenhaircurledratherstifflyroundherfaceandbig,wistfulblueeyes.Louisewasdroopingalittle.Thelongstreamofcongratulationshadtiredher.Shewashopingitmightsoonbetimetogo.Perhaps,evennow,Harrymightsayso.Shelookedathimsideways.Sotallandbroadshoulderedwithhiseagerpleasureinthishorrible,dullparty.Poorlittlerichgirl—“Ooph!”Itwasasighofrelief.Harryturnedtolookathiswifeamusedly.Theyweredrivingawayfromtheparty.Shesaid,“Darling,whatafrightfulparty!”Harrylaughed.“Yes,prettyterrible.Nevermind,mysweet.Ithadtobedone,youknow.AlltheseoldpussiesknewmewhenIlivedhereasaboy.They’dhavebeenterriblydisappointednottohavegotalookatyoucloseup.”Louisemadeagrimace.Shesaid,“Shallwehavetoseealotofthem?”“What?Oh,no.They’llcomeandmakeceremoniouscallswithcardcases,andyou’llreturnthecallsandthenyouneedn’tbotheranymore.Youcanhaveyourownfriendsdownorwhateveryoulike.”Louisesaid,afteraminuteortwo,“Isn’tthereanyoneamusinglivingdownhere?”“Oh,yes.There’stheCounty,youknow.Thoughyoumayfindthemabitdull,too.Mostlyinterestedinbulbsanddogsandhorses.You’llride,ofcourse.You’llenjoythat.There’sahorseoveratEglintonI’dlikeyoutosee.Abeautifulanimal,perfectlytrained,noviceinhimbutplentyofspirit.”ThecarsloweddowntotaketheturnintothegatesofKingsdean.Harrywrenchedthewheelandsworeasagrotesquefiguresprangupinthemiddleoftheroadandheonlyjustmanagedtoavoidit.Itstoodthere,shakingafistandshoutingafterthem.Louiseclutchedhisarm.“Who’sthat—thathorribleoldwoman?”Harry’sbrowwasblack.“That’soldMurgatroyd.Sheandherhusbandwerecaretakersintheoldhouse.Theyweretherefornearlythirtyyears.”“Whydoessheshakeherfistatyou?”Harry’sfacegotred.“She—well,sheresentedthehousebeingpulleddown.Andshegotthesack,ofcourse.Herhusband’sbeendeadtwoyears.Theysayshegotabitqueerafterhedied.”“Isshe—sheisn’t—starving?”Louise’sideaswerevagueandsomewhatmelodramatic.Richespreventedyoucomingintocontactwithreality.Harrywasoutraged.“GoodLord,Louise,whatanidea!Ipensionedheroff,ofcourse—andhandsomely,too!Foundheranewcottageandeverything.”Louiseasked,bewildered,“Thenwhydoesshemind?”Harrywasfrowning,hisbrowsdrawntogether.“Oh,howshouldIknow?Craziness!Shelovedthehouse.”“Butitwasaruin,wasn’tit?”“Ofcourseitwas—crumblingtopieces—roofleaking—moreorlessunsafe.AllthesameIsupposeitmeantsomethingtoher.She’dbeentherealongtime.Oh,Idon’tknow!Theolddevil’scracked,Ithink.”Louisesaiduneasily,“She—Ithinkshecursedus.Oh,Harry,Iwishshehadn’t.”ItseemedtoLouisethathernewhomewastaintedandpoisonedbythemalevolentfigureofonecrazyoldwoman.Whenshewentoutinthecar,whensherode,whenshewalkedoutwiththedogs,therewasalwaysthesamefigurewaiting.Croucheddownonherself,abatteredhatoverwispsofiron-greyhair,andtheslowmutteringofimprecations.LouisecametobelievethatHarrywasright—theoldwomanwasmad.Neverthelessthatdidnotmakethingseasier.Mrs.Murgatroydneveractuallycametothehouse,nordidsheusedefinitethreats,norofferviolence.Hersquattingfigureremainedalwaysjustoutsidethegates.Toappealtothepolicewouldhavebeenuselessand,inanycase,HarryLaxtonwasaversetothatcourseofaction.Itwould,hesaid,arouselocalsympathyfortheoldbrute.HetookthemattermoreeasilythanLouisedid.“Don’tworryaboutit,darling.She’llgettiredofthissillycursingbusiness.Probablyshe’sonlytryingiton.”“Sheisn’t,Harry.She—shehatesus!Icanfeelit.She—she’sillwishingus.”“She’snotawitch,darling,althoughshemaylooklikeone!Don’tbemorbidaboutitall.”Louisewassilent.Nowthatthefirstexcitementofsettlinginwasover,shefeltcuriouslylonelyandatalooseend.ShehadbeenusedtolifeinLondonandtheRiviera.ShehadnoknowledgeofortasteforEnglishcountrylife.Shewasignorantofgardening,exceptforthefinalactof“doingtheflowers.”Shedidnotreallycarefordogs.Shewasboredbysuchneighboursasshemet.Sheenjoyedridingbest,sometimeswithHarry,sometimes,whenhewasbusyabouttheestate,byherself.Shehackedthroughthewoodsandlanes,enjoyingtheeasypacesofthebeautifulhorsethatHarryhadboughtforher.YetevenPrinceHal,mostsensitiveofchestnutsteeds,waswonttoshyandsnortashecarriedhismistresspastthehuddledfigureofamalevolentoldwoman.OnedayLouisetookhercourageinbothhands.Shewasoutwalking.ShehadpassedMrs.Murgatroyd,pretendingnottonoticeher,butsuddenlysheswervedbackandwentrightuptoher.Shesaid,alittlebreathlessly,“Whatisit?What’sthematter?Whatdoyouwant?”Theoldwomanblinkedather.Shehadacunning,darkgypsyface,withwispsofiron-greyhair,andbleared,suspiciouseyes.Louisewonderedifshedrank.Shespokeinawhiningandyetthreateningvoice.“WhatdoIwant,youask?What,indeed!Thatwhichhasbeentookawayfromme.WhoturnedmeoutofKingsdeanHouse?I’dlivedthere,girlandwoman,fornearonfortyyears.Itwasablackdeedtoturnmeoutandit’sblackbadluckit’llbringtoyouandhim!”Louisesaid,“You’vegotaverynicecottageand—”Shebrokeoff.Theoldwoman’sarmsflewup.Shescreamed,“What’sthegoodofthattome?It’smyownplaceIwantandmyownfireasIsatbesideallthemyears.Andasforyouandhim,I’mtellingyoutherewillbenohappinessforyouinyournewfinehouse.It’stheblacksorrowwillbeuponyou!Sorrowanddeathandmycurse.Mayyourfairfacerot.”Louiseturnedawayandbrokeintoalittlestumblingrun.Shethought,Imustgetawayfromhere!Wemustsellthehouse!Wemustgoaway.Atthemoment,suchasolutionseemedeasytoher.ButHarry’sutterincomprehensiontookherback.Heexclaimed,“Leavehere?Sellthehouse?Becauseofacrazyoldwoman’sthreats?Youmustbemad.”“No,I’mnot.Butshe—shefrightensme,Iknowsomethingwillhappen.”HarryLaxtonsaidgrimly,“LeaveMrs.Murgatroydtome.I’llsettleher!”AfriendshiphadsprungupbetweenClariceVaneandyoungMrs.Laxton.Thetwogirlsweremuchofanage,thoughdissimilarbothincharacterandintastes.InClarice’scompany,Louisefoundreassurance.Claricewassoself-reliant,sosureofherself.LouisementionedthematterofMrs.Murgatroydandherthreats,butClariceseemedtoregardthematterasmoreannoyingthanfrightening.“It’ssostupid,thatsortofthing,”shesaid.“Andreallyveryannoyingforyou.”“Youknow,Clarice,I—Ifeelquitefrightenedsometimes.Myheartgivesthemostawfuljumps.”“Nonsense,youmustn’tletasillythinglikethatgetyoudown.She’llsoontireofit.”Shewassilentforaminuteortwo.Claricesaid,“What’sthematter?”Louisepausedforaminute,thenheranswercamewitharush.“Ihatethisplace!Ihatebeinghere.Thewoodsandthishouse,andtheawfulsilenceatnight,andthequeernoiseowlsmake.Oh,andthepeopleandeverything.”“Thepeople.Whatpeople?”“Thepeopleinthevillage.Thoseprying,gossipingoldmaids.”Claricesaidsharply,“Whathavetheybeensaying?”“Idon’tknow.Nothingparticular.Butthey’vegotnastyminds.Whenyou’vetalkedtothemyoufeelyouwouldn’ttrustanybody—notanybodyatall.”Claricesaidharshly,“Forgetthem.They’venothingtodobutgossip.Andmostofthemucktheytalktheyjustinvent.”Louisesaid,“Iwishwe’dnevercomehere.ButHarryadoresitso.”Hervoicesoftened.Claricethought,Howsheadoreshim.Shesaidabruptly,“Imustgonow.”“I’llsendyoubackinthecar.Comeagainsoon.”Claricenodded.Louisefeltcomfortedbyhernewfriend’svisit.HarrywaspleasedtofindhermorecheerfulandfromthenonurgedhertohaveClariceoftentothehouse.Thenonedayhesaid,“Goodnewsforyou,darling.”“Oh,what?”“I’vefixedtheMurgatroyd.She’sgotasoninAmerica,youknow.Well,I’vearrangedforhertogooutandjoinhim.I’llpayherpassage.”“Oh,Harry,howwonderful.IbelieveImightgettolikeKingsdeanafterall.”“Gettolikeit?Why,it’sthemostwonderfulplaceintheworld!”Louisegavealittleshiver.Shecouldnotridherselfofhersuperstitiousfearsoeasily.IftheladiesofSt.MaryMeadhadhopedforthepleasureofimpartinginformationaboutherhusband’spasttothebride,thispleasurewasdeniedthembyHarryLaxton’sownpromptaction.MissHarmonandClariceVanewerebothinMr.Edge’sshop,theonebuyingmothballsandtheotherapacketofboracic,whenHarryLaxtonandhiswifecamein.Aftergreetingthetwoladies,Harryturnedtothecounterandwasjustdemandingatoothbrushwhenhestoppedinmid-speechandexclaimedheartily,“Well,well,justseewho’shere!Bella,Idodeclare.”Mrs.Edge,whohadhurriedoutfromthebackparlourtoattendtothecongestionofbusiness,beamedbackcheerfullyathim,showingherbigwhiteteeth.Shehadbeenadark,handsomegirlandwasstillareasonablyhandsomewoman,thoughshehadputonweight,andthelinesofherfacehadcoarsened;butherlargebrowneyeswerefullofwarmthassheanswered,“Bella,itis,Mr.Harry,andpleasedtoseeyouafteralltheseyears.”Harryturnedtohiswife.“Bella’sanoldflameofmine,Louise,”hesaid.“Head-over-heelsinlovewithher,wasn’tI,Bella?”“That’swhatyousay,”saidMrs.Edge.Louiselaughed.Shesaid,“Myhusband’sveryhappyseeingallhisoldfriendsagain.”“Ah,”saidMrs.Edge,“wehaven’tforgottenyou,Mr.Harry.SeemslikeafairytaletothinkofyoumarriedandbuildingupanewhouseinsteadofthatruinedoldKingsdeanHouse.”“Youlookverywellandblooming,”saidHarry,andMrs.Edgelaughedandsaidtherewasnothingwrongwithherandwhataboutthattoothbrush?Clarice,watchingthebaffledlookonMissHarmon’sface,saidtoherselfexultantly,Oh,well-done,Harry.You’vespikedtheirguns.DoctorHaydocksaidabruptlytohisniece,“What’sallthisnonsenseaboutoldMrs.MurgatroydhangingaboutKingsdeanandshakingherfistandcursingthenewregime?”“Itisn’tnonsense.It’squitetrue.It’supsetLouiseagooddeal.”“Tellhersheneedn’tworry—whentheMurgatroydswerecaretakerstheyneverstoppedgrumblingabouttheplace—theyonlystayedbecauseMurgatroyddrankandcouldn’tgetanotherjob.”“I’lltellher,”saidClaricedoubtfully,“butIdon’tthinkshe’llbelieveyou.Theoldwomanfairlyscreamswithrage.”“AlwaysusedtobefondofHarryasaboy.Ican’tunderstandit.”Claricesaid,“Oh,well—they’llberidofhersoon.Harry’spayingherpassagetoAmerica.”Threedayslater,Louisewasthrownfromherhorseandkilled.Twomeninabaker’svanwerewitnessesoftheaccident.TheysawLouiserideoutofthegates,sawtheoldwomanspringupandstandintheroadwavingherarmsandshouting,sawthehorsestart,swerve,andthenboltmadlydowntheroad,flingingLouiseLaxtonoverhishead.Oneofthemstoodovertheunconsciousfigure,notknowingwhattodo,whiletheotherrushedtothehousetogethelp.HarryLaxtoncamerunningout,hisfaceghastly.Theytookoffadoorofthevanandcarriedheronittothehouse.Shediedwithoutregainingconsciousnessandbeforethedoctorarrived.(EndofDoctorHaydock’smanuscript.)
WhenDoctorHaydockarrivedthefollowingday,hewaspleasedtonotethattherewasapinkflushinMissMarple’scheekanddecidedlymoreanimationinhermanner.
“Well,”hesaid,“what’stheverdict?”
“What’stheproblem,DoctorHaydock?”counteredMissMarple.
“Oh,mydearlady,doIhavetotellyouthat?”
“Isuppose,”saidMissMarple,“thatit’sthecuriousconductofthecaretaker.Whydidshebehaveinthatveryoddway?Peopledomindbeingturnedoutoftheiroldhomes.Butitwasn’therhome.Infact,sheusedtocomplainandgrumblewhileshewasthere.Yes,itcertainlylooksveryfishy.Whatbecameofher,bytheway?”
“DidabunktoLiverpool.Theaccidentscaredher.Thoughtshe’dwaitthereforherboat.”
“Allveryconvenientforsomebody,”saidMissMarple.“Yes,Ithinkthe‘ProblemoftheCaretaker’sConduct’canbesolvedeasilyenough.Bribery,wasitnot?”
“That’syoursolution?”
“Well,ifitwasn’tnaturalforhertobehaveinthatway,shemusthavebeen‘puttingonanact’aspeoplesay,andthatmeansthatsomebodypaidhertodowhatshedid.”
“Andyouknowwhothatsomebodywas?”
“Oh,Ithinkso.Moneyagain,I’mafraid.AndI’vealwaysnoticedthatgentlemenalwaystendtoadmirethesametype.”
“NowI’moutofmydepth.”
“No,no,itallhangstogether.HarryLaxtonadmiredBellaEdge,adark,vivacioustype.YournieceClaricewasthesame.Butthepoorlittlewifewasquiteadifferenttype—fair-hairedandclinging—nothistypeatall.Sohemusthavemarriedherforhermoney.Andmurderedherforhermoney,too!”
“Youusetheword‘murder’?”
“Well,hesoundstherighttype.Attractivetowomenandquiteunscrupulous.Isupposehewantedtokeephiswife’smoneyandmarryyourniece.HemayhavebeenseentalkingtoMrs.Edge.ButIdon’tfancyhewasattachedtoheranymore.ThoughIdaresayhemadethepoorwomanthinkhewas,forendsofhisown.Hesoonhadherwellunderhisthumb,Ifancy.”
“Howexactlydidhemurderher,doyouthink?”
MissMarplestaredaheadofherforsomeminuteswithdreamyblueeyes.
“Itwasverywell-timed—withthebaker’svanaswitness.Theycouldseetheoldwomanand,ofcourse,they’dputdownthehorse’sfrighttothat.ButIshouldimagine,myself,thatanairgun,orperhapsacatapult.Yes,justasthehorsecamethroughthegates.Thehorsebolted,ofcourse,andMrs.Laxtonwasthrown.”
Shepaused,frowning.
“Thefallmighthavekilledher.Buthecouldn’tbesureofthat.Andheseemsthesortofmanwhowouldlayhisplanscarefullyandleavenothingtochance.Afterall,Mrs.Edgecouldgethimsomethingsuitablewithoutherhusbandknowing.Otherwise,whywouldHarrybotherwithher?Yes,Ithinkhehadsomepowerfuldrughandy,thatcouldbeadministeredbeforeyouarrived.Afterall,ifawomanisthrownfromherhorseandhasseriousinjuriesanddieswithoutrecoveringconsciousness,well—adoctorwouldn’tnormallybesuspicious,wouldhe?He’dputitdowntoshockorsomething.”
DoctorHaydocknodded.
“Whydidyoususpect?”askedMissMarple.
“Itwasn’tanyparticularclevernessonmypart,”saidDoctorHaydock.“Itwasjustthetrite,well-knownfactthatamurdererissopleasedwithhisclevernessthathedoesn’ttakeproperprecautions.Iwasjustsayingafewconsolatorywordstothebereavedhusband—andfeelingdamnedsorryforthefellow,too—whenheflunghimselfdownonthesetteetodoabitofplayactingandahypodermicsyringefelloutofhispocket.
“HesnatcheditupandlookedsoscaredthatIbegantothink.HarryLaxtondidn’tdrug;hewasinperfecthealth;whatwashedoingwithahypodermicsyringe?Ididtheautopsywithaviewtocertainpossibilities.Ifoundstrophanthin.Therestwaseasy.TherewasstrophanthininLaxton’spossession,andBellaEdge,questionedbythepolice,brokedownandadmittedtohavinggotitforhim.AndfinallyoldMrs.MurgatroydconfessedthatitwasHarryLaxtonwhohadputheruptothecursingstunt.”
“Andyourniecegotoverit?”
“Yes,shewasattractedbythefellow,butithadn’tgonefar.”
Thedoctorpickeduphismanuscript.
“Fullmarkstoyou,MissMarple—andfullmarkstomeformyprescription.You’relookingalmostyourselfagain.”
Six
THETHIRDFLOORFLAT
“TheThird-FloorFlat”wasfirstpublishedinHutchinson’sStoryMagazine,January1929.
Bother!”saidPat.
Withadeepeningfrownsherummagedwildlyinthesilkentrifleshecalledaneveningbag.Twoyoungmenandanothergirlwatchedheranxiously.TheywereallstandingoutsidethecloseddoorofPatriciaGarnett’sflat.
“It’snogood,”saidPat.“It’snotthere.Andnowwhatshallwedo?”
“Whatislifewithoutalatchkey?”murmuredJimmyFaulkener.
Hewasashort,broad-shoulderedyoungman,withgood-temperedblueeyes.
Patturnedonhimangrily.“Don’tmakejokes,Jimmy.Thisisserious.”
“Lookagain,Pat,”saidDonovanBailey.“Itmustbetheresomewhere.”
Hehadalazy,pleasantvoicethatmatchedhislean,darkfigure.
“Ifyoueverbroughtitout,”saidtheothergirl,MildredHope.
“OfcourseIbroughtitout,”saidPat.“IbelieveIgaveittooneofyoutwo.”Sheturnedonthemenaccusingly.“ItoldDonovantotakeitforme.”
Butshewasnottofindascapegoatsoeasily.Donovanputinafirmdisclaimer,andJimmybackedhimup.
“Isawyouputitinyourbag,myself,”saidJimmy.
“Well,then,oneofyoudroppeditoutwhenyoupickedupmybag.I’vedroppeditonceortwice.”
“Onceortwice!”saidDonovan.“You’vedroppeditadozentimesatleast,besidesleavingitbehindoneverypossibleoccasion.”
“Ican’tseewhyeverythingonearthdoesn’tdropoutofitthewholetime,”saidJimmy.
“Thepointis—howarewegoingtogetin?”saidMildred.
Shewasasensiblegirl,whokepttothepoint,butshewasnotnearlysoattractiveastheimpulsiveandtroublesomePat.
Allfourofthemregardedthecloseddoorblankly.
“Couldn’ttheporterhelp?”suggestedJimmy.“Hasn’thegotamasterkeyorsomethingofthatkind?”
Patshookherhead.Therewereonlytwokeys.Onewasinsidetheflathungupinthekitchenandtheotherwas—orshouldbe—inthemalignedbag.
“Ifonlytheflatwereonthegroundfloor,”wailedPat.“Wecouldhavebrokenopenawindoworsomething.Donovan,youwouldn’tliketobeacatburglar,wouldyou?”
Donovandeclinedfirmlybutpolitelytobeacatburglar.
“Aflatonthefourthfloorisabitofanundertaking,”saidJimmy.
“Howaboutafireescape?”suggestedDonovan.
“Thereisn’tone.”
“Thereshouldbe,”saidJimmy.“Abuildingfivestoreyshighoughttohaveafireescape.”
“Idaresay,”saidPat.“Butwhatshouldbedoesn’thelpus.HowamIevertogetintomyflat?”
“Isn’tthereasortofthingummybob?”saidDonovan.“Athingthetradesmensendupchopsandbrusselssproutsin?”
“Theservicelift,”saidPat.“Ohyes,butit’sonlyasortofwire-basketthing.Ohwait—Iknow.Whataboutthecoallift?”
“Nowthat,”saidDonovan,“isanidea.”
Mildredmadeadiscouragingsuggestion.“It’llbebolted,”shesaid.“InPat’skitchen,Imean,ontheinside.”
Buttheideawasinstantlynegatived.
“Don’tyoubelieveit,”saidDonovan
“NotinPat’skitchen,”saidJimmy.“Patneverlocksandboltsthings.”
“Idon’tthinkit’sbolted,”saidPat.“Itookthedustbinoffthismorning,andI’msureIneverbolteditafterwards,andIdon’tthinkI’vebeennearitsince.”
“Well,”saidDonovan,“thatfact’sgoingtobeveryusefultoustonight,but,allthesame,youngPat,letmepointouttoyouthattheseslackhabitsareleavingyouatthemercyofburglars—non-feline—everynight.”
Patdisregardedtheseadmonitions.
“Comeon,”shecried,andbeganracingdownthefourflightsofstairs.Theothersfollowedher.Patledthemthroughadarkrecess,apparentlyfulltooverflowingofperambulators,andthroughanotherdoorintothewelloftheflats,andguidedthemtotherightlift.Therewas,atthemoment,adustbinonit.Donovanlifteditoffandsteppedgingerlyontotheplatforminitsplace.Hewrinkleduphisnose.
“Alittlenoisome,”heremarked.“Butwhatofthat?DoIgoaloneonthisventureorisanyonecomingwithme?”
“I’llcome,too,”saidJimmy.
HesteppedonbyDonovan’sside.
“Isupposetheliftwillbearme,”headdeddoubtfully.
“Youcan’tweighmuchmorethanatonofcoal,”saidPat,whohadneverbeenparticularlystrongonherweights-and-measurestable.
“And,anyway,weshallsoonfindout,”saidDonovancheerfully,ashehauledontherope.
Withagrindingnoisetheydisappearedfromsight.
“Thisthingmakesanawfulnoise,”remarkedJimmy,astheypassedupthroughblackness.“Whatwillthepeopleintheotherflatsthink?”
“Ghostsorburglars,Iexpect,”saidDonovan.“Haulingthisropeisquiteheavywork.TheporterofFriarsMansionsdoesmoreworkthanIeversuspected.Isay,Jimmy,oldson,areyoucountingthefloors?”
“Oh,Lord!No.Iforgotaboutit.”
“Well,Ihave,whichisjustaswell.That’sthethirdwe’repassingnow.Thenextisours.”
“Andnow,Isuppose,”grumbledJimmy,“weshallfindthatPatdidboltthedoorafterall.”
Butthesefearswereunfounded.Thewoodendoorswungbackatatouch,andDonovanandJimmysteppedoutintotheinkyblacknessofPat’skitchen.
“Weoughttohaveatorchforthiswildnightwork,”exclaimedDonovan.“IfIknowPat,everything’sonthefloor,andweshallsmashendlesscrockerybeforeIcangettothelightswitch.Don’tmoveabout,Jimmy,tillIgetthelighton.”
Hefelthiswaycautiouslyoverthefloor,utteringonefervent“Damn!”asacornerofthekitchentabletookhimunawaresintheribs.Hereachedtheswitch,andinanothermomentanother“Damn!”floatedoutofthedarkness.
“What’sthematter?”askedJimmy.
“Lightwon’tcomeon.Dudbulb,Isuppose.Waitaminute.I’llturnthesittingroomlighton.”
Thesittingroomwasthedoorimmediatelyacrossthepassage.JimmyheardDonovangooutofthedoor,andpresentlyfreshmuffledcursesreachedhim.Hehimselfedgedhiswaycautiouslyacrossthekitchen.
“What’sthematter?”
“Idon’tknow.Roomsgetbewitchedatnight,Ibelieve.Everythingseemstobeinadifferentplace.Chairsandtableswhereyouleastexpectedthem.Oh,hell!Here’sanother!”
ButatthismomentJimmyfortunatelyconnectedwiththeelectriclightswitchandpresseditdown.Inanotherminutetwoyoungmenwerelookingateachotherinsilenthorror.
ThisroomwasnotPat’ssittingroom.Theywereinthewrongflat.
Tobeginwith,theroomwasabouttentimesmorecrowdedthanPat’s,whichexplainedDonovan’spatheticbewildermentatrepeatedlycannoningintochairsandtables.Therewasalargeroundtableinthecentreoftheroomcoveredwithabaizecloth,andtherewasanaspidistrainthewindow.Itwas,infact,thekindofroomwhoseowner,theyoungmenfeltsure,wouldbedifficulttoexplainto.Withsilenthorrortheygazeddownatthetable,onwhichlayalittlepileofletters.
“Mrs.ErnestineGrant,”breathedDonovan,pickingthemupandreadingthename.“Oh,help!Doyouthinkshe’sheardus?”
“It’samiracleshehasn’theardyou,”saidJimmy.“Whatwithyourlanguageandthewayyou’vebeencrashingintothefurniture.Comeon,fortheLord’ssake,let’sgetoutofherequickly.”
Theyhastilyswitchedoffthelightandretracedtheirstepsontiptoetothelift.Jimmybreathedasighofreliefastheyregainedthefastnessofitsdepthswithoutfurtherincident.
“Idolikeawomantobeagood,soundsleeper,”hesaidapprovingly.“Mrs.ErnestineGranthasherpoints.”
“Iseeitnow,”saidDonovan;“whywemadethemistakeinthefloor,Imean.Outinthatwellwestartedupfromthebasement.”
Heheavedontherope,andtheliftshotup.“We’rerightthistime.”
“Idevoutlytrustweare,”saidJimmyashesteppedoutintoanotherinkyvoid.“Mynerveswon’tstandmanymoreshocksofthiskind.”
Butnofurthernervestrainwasimposed.ThefirstclickofthelightshowedthemPat’skitchen,andinanotherminutetheywereopeningthefrontdoorandadmittingthetwogirlswhowerewaitingoutside.
“Youhavebeenalongtime,”grumbledPat.“MildredandIhavebeenwaitinghereages.”
“We’vehadanadventure,”saidDonovan.“Wemighthavebeenhauledofftothepolicestationasdangerousmalefactors.”
Pathadpassedonintothesittingroom,wheresheswitchedonthelightanddroppedherwraponthesofa.ShelistenedwithlivelyinteresttoDonovan’saccountofhisadventures.
“I’mgladshedidn’tcatchyou,”shecommented.“I’msureshe’sanoldcurmudgeon.Igotanotefromherthismorning—wantedtoseemesometime—somethingshehadtocomplainabout—mypiano,Isuppose.Peoplewhodon’tlikepianosovertheirheadsshouldn’tcomeandliveinflats.Isay,Donovan,you’vehurtyourhand.It’salloverblood.Goandwashitunderthetap.”
Donovanlookeddownathishandinsurprise.HewentoutoftheroomobedientlyandpresentlyhisvoicecalledtoJimmy.
“Hullo,”saidtheother,“what’sup?Youhaven’thurtyourselfbadly,haveyou?”
“Ihaven’thurtmyselfatall.”
TherewassomethingsoqueerinDonovan’svoicethatJimmystaredathiminsurprise.DonovanheldouthiswashedhandandJimmysawthattherewasnomarkorcutofanykindonit.
“That’sodd,”hesaid,frowning.“Therewasquitealotofblood.Wherediditcomefrom?”Andthensuddenlyherealizedwhathisquicker-wittedfriendhadalreadyseen.“ByJove,”hesaid.“Itmusthavecomefromthatflat.”Hestopped,thinkingoverthepossibilitieshiswordsimplied.“You’resureitwas—er—blood?”hesaid.“Notpaint?”
Donovanshookhishead.“Itwasblood,allright,”hesaid,andshivered.
Theylookedateachother.Thesamethoughtwasclearlyineachoftheirminds.ItwasJimmywhovoiceditfirst.
“Isay,”hesaidawkwardly.“Doyouthinkweoughtto—well—godownagain—andhave—a—lookaround?Seeit’sallright,youknow?”
“Whataboutthegirls?”
“Wewon’tsayanythingtothem.Pat’sgoingtoputonanapronandmakeusanomelette.We’llbebackbythetimetheywonderwhereweare.”
“Oh,well,comeon,”saidDonovan.“Isupposewe’vegottogothroughwithit.Idaresaythereisn’tanythingreallywrong.”
Buthistonelackedconviction.Theygotintotheliftanddescendedtothefloorbelow.Theyfoundtheirwayacrossthekitchenwithoutmuchdifficultyandoncemoreswitchedonthesittingroomlight.
“Itmusthavebeeninhere,”saidDonovan,“that—thatIgotthestuffonme.Inevertouchedanythinginthekitchen.”
Helookedroundhim.Jimmydidthesame,andtheybothfrowned.Everythinglookedneatandcommonplaceandmilesremovedfromanysuggestionofviolenceorgore.
SuddenlyJimmystartedviolentlyandcaughthiscompanion’sarm.
“Look!”
Donovanfollowedthepointingfinger,andinhisturnutteredanexclamation.Frombeneaththeheavyrepcurtainsthereprotrudedafoot—awoman’sfootinagapingpatentleathershoe.
Jimmywenttothecurtainsanddrewthemsharplyapart.Intherecessofthewindowawoman’shuddledbodylayonthefloor,astickydarkpoolbesideit.Shewasdead,therewasnodoubtofthat.JimmywasattemptingtoraiseherupwhenDonovanstoppedhim.
“You’dbetternotdothat.Sheoughtn’ttobetouchedtillthepolicecome.”
“Thepolice.Oh,ofcourse.Isay,Donovan,whataghastlybusiness.Whodoyouthinksheis?Mrs.ErnestineGrant?”
“Lookslikeit.Atanyrate,ifthere’sanyoneelseintheflatthey’rekeepingjollyquiet.”
“Whatdowedonext?”askedJimmy.“RunoutandgetapolicemanorringupfromPat’sflat?”
“Ishouldthinkringingupwouldbebest.Comeon,wemightaswellgooutthefrontdoor.Wecan’tspendthewholenightgoingupanddowninthatevil-smellinglift.”
Jimmyagreed.Justastheywerepassingthroughthedoorhehesitated.“Lookhere;doyouthinkoneofusoughttostay—justtokeepaneyeonthings—tillthepolicecome?”
“Yes,Ithinkyou’reright.Ifyou’llstayI’llrunupandtelephone.”
Heranquicklyupthestairsandrangthebelloftheflatabove.Patcametoopenit,averyprettyPatwithaflushedfaceandacookingapronon.Hereyeswidenedinsurprise.
“You?Buthow—Donovan,whatisit?Isanythingthematter?”
Hetookbothherhandsinhis.“It’sallright,Pat—onlywe’vemadearatherunpleasantdiscoveryintheflatbelow.Awoman—dead.”
“Oh!”Shegavealittlegasp.“Howhorrible.Hasshehadafitorsomething?”
“No.Itlooks—well—itlooksratherasthoughshehadbeenmurdered.”
“Oh,Donovan!”
“Iknow.It’sprettybeastly.”
Herhandswerestillinhis.Shehadleftthemthere—wasevenclingingtohim.DarlingPat—howhelovedher.Didshecareatallforhim?Sometimeshethoughtshedid.SometimeshewasafraidthatJimmyFaulkener—remembrancesofJimmywaitingpatientlybelowmadehimstartguiltily.
“Pat,dear,wemusttelephonetothepolice.”
“Monsieurisright,”saidavoicebehindhim.“Andinthemeantime,whilewearewaitingtheirarrival,perhapsIcanbeofsomeslightassistance.”
Theyhadbeenstandinginthedoorwayoftheflat,andnowtheypeeredoutonthelanding.Afigurewasstandingonthestairsalittlewayabovethem.Itmoveddownandintotheirrangeofvision.
Theystoodstaringatthelittlemanwithaveryfiercemoustacheandanegg-shapedhead.Heworearesplendentdressinggownandembroideredslippers.HebowedgallantlytoPatricia.
“Mademoiselle!”hesaid.“Iam,asperhapsyouknow,thetenantoftheflatabove.Iliketobeuphigh—intheair—theviewoverLondon.ItaketheflatinthenameofMr.O’Connor.ButIamnotanIrishman.Ihaveanothername.ThatiswhyIventuretoputmyselfatyourservice.Permitme.”WithaflourishhepulledoutacardandhandedittoPat.Shereadit.
“M.HerculePoirot.Oh!”Shecaughtherbreath.“TheM.Poirot!Thegreatdetective?Andyouwillreallyhelp?”
“Thatismyintention,mademoiselle.Inearlyofferedmyhelpearlierintheevening.”
Patlookedpuzzled.
“Iheardyoudiscussinghowtogainadmissiontoyourflat.Me,Iamverycleveratpickinglocks.Icould,withoutdoubt,haveopenedyourdoorforyou,butIhesitatedtosuggestit.Youwouldhavehadthegravesuspicionsofme.”
Patlaughed.
“Now,monsieur,”saidPoirottoDonovan.“Goin,Iprayofyou,andtelephonetothepolice.Iwilldescendtotheflatbelow.”
Patcamedownthestairswithhim.TheyfoundJimmyonguard,andPatexplainedPoirot’spresence.Jimmy,inhisturn,explainedtoPoirothisandDonovan’sadventures.Thedetectivelistenedattentively.
“Theliftdoorwasunbolted,yousay?Youemergedintothekitchen,butthelightitwouldnotturnon.”
Hedirectedhisfootstepstothekitchenashespoke.Hisfingerspressedtheswitch.
“Tiens!Voilàcequiestcurieux!”hesaidasthelightflashedon.“Itfunctionsperfectlynow.Iwonder—”Heheldupafingertoensuresilenceandlistened.Afaintsoundbrokethestillness—thesoundofanunmistakablesnore.“Ah!”saidPoirot.“Lachambrededomestique.”
Hetiptoedacrossthekitchenintoalittlepantry,outofwhichledadoor.Heopenedthedoorandswitchedonthelight.Theroomwasthekindofdogkenneldesignedbythebuildersofflatstoaccommodateahumanbeing.Thefloorspacewasalmostentirelyoccupiedbythebed.Inthebedwasarosy-cheekedgirllyingonherbackwithhermouthwideopen,snoringplacidly.
Poirotswitchedoffthelightandbeataretreat.
“Shewillnotwake,”hesaid.“Wewilllethersleeptillthepolicecome.”
Hewentbacktothesittingroom.Donovanhadjoinedthem.
“Thepolicewillbeherealmostimmediately,theysay,”hesaidbreathlessly.“Wearetotouchnothing.”
Poirotnodded.“Wewillnottouch,”hesaid.“Wewilllook,thatisall.”
Hemovedintotheroom.MildredhadcomedownwithDonovan,andallfouryoungpeoplestoodinthedoorwayandwatchedhimwithbreathlessinterest.
“WhatIcan’tunderstand,sir,isthis,”saidDonovan.“Ineverwentnearthewindow—howdidthebloodcomeonmyhand?”
“Myyoungfriend,theanswertothatstaresyouintheface.Ofwhatcolouristhetablecloth?Red,isitnot?anddoubtlessyoudidputyourhandonthetable.”
“Yes,Idid.Isthat—?”Hestopped.
Poirotnodded.Hewasbendingoverthetable.Heindicatedwithhishandadarkpatchonthered.
“Itwasherethatthecrimewascommitted,”hesaidsolemnly.“Thebodywasmovedafterwards.”
Thenhestooduprightandlookedslowlyroundtheroom.Hedidnotmove,hehandlednothing,butneverthelessthefourwatchingfeltasthougheveryobjectinthatratherfrowstyplacegaveupitssecrettohisobservanteye.
HerculePoirotnoddedhisheadasthoughsatisfied.Alittlesighescapedhim.“Isee,”hesaid.
“Youseewhat?”askedDonovancuriously.
“Isee,”saidPoirot,“whatyoudoubtlessfelt—thattheroomisoverfulloffurniture.”
Donovansmiledruefully.“Ididgobargingaboutabit,”heconfessed.“Ofcourse,everythingwasinadifferentplacetoPat’sroom,andIcouldn’tmakeitout.”
“Noteverything,”saidPoirot.
Donovanlookedathiminquiringly.
“Imean,”saidPoirotapologetically,“thatcertainthingsarealwaysfixed.Inablockofflatsthedoor,thewindow,thefireplace—theyareinthesameplaceintheroomswhicharebeloweachother.”
“Isn’tthatrathersplittinghairs?”askedMildred.ShewaslookingatPoirotwithfaintdisapproval.
“Oneshouldalwaysspeakwithabsoluteaccuracy.Thatisalittle—howdoyousay?—fadofmine.”
Therewasthenoiseoffootstepsonthestairs,andthreemencamein.Theywereapoliceinspector,aconstable,andthedivisionalsurgeon.TheinspectorrecognizedPoirotandgreetedhiminanalmostreverentialmanner.Thenheturnedtotheothers.
“Ishallwantstatementsfromeveryone,”hebegan,“butinthefirstplace—”
Poirotinterrupted.“Alittlesuggestion.Wewillgobacktotheflatupstairsandmademoisellehereshalldowhatshewasplanningtodo—makeusanomelette.Me,Ihaveapassionfortheomelettes.Then,M.l’Inspecteur,whenyouhavefinishedhere,youwillmounttousandaskquestionsatyourleisure.”
Itwasarrangedaccordingly,andPoirotwentupwiththem.
“M.Poirot,”saidPat,“Ithinkyou’reaperfectdear.Andyoushallhavealovelyomelette.Ireallymakeomelettesfrightfullywell.”
“Thatisgood.Once,mademoiselle,IlovedabeautifulyoungEnglishgirl,whoresembledyougreatly—butalas!—shecouldnotcook.Soperhapseverythingwasforthebest.”
Therewasafaintsadnessinhisvoice,andJimmyFaulkenerlookedathimcuriously.
Onceintheflat,however,heexertedhimselftopleaseandamuse.Thegrimtragedybelowwasalmostforgotten.
TheomelettehadbeenconsumedanddulypraisedbythetimethatInspectorRice’sfootstepswereheard.Hecameinaccompaniedbythedoctor,havinglefttheconstablebelow.
“Well,MonsieurPoirot,”hesaid.“Itallseemsclearandaboveboard—notmuchinyourline,thoughwemayfindithardtocatchtheman.I’djustliketohearhowthediscoverycametobemade.”
DonovanandJimmybetweenthemrecountedthehappeningsoftheevening.TheinspectorturnedreproachfullytoPat.
“Youshouldn’tleaveyourliftdoorunbolted,miss.Youreallyshouldn’t.”
“Ishan’tagain,”saidPat,withashiver.“Somebodymightcomeinandmurdermelikethatpoorwomanbelow.”
“Ah,buttheydidn’tcomeinthatway,though,”saidtheinspector.
“Youwillrecounttouswhatyouhavediscovered,yes?”saidPoirot.
“Idon’tknowasIoughtto—butseeingit’syou,M.Poirot—”
“Précisément,”saidPoirot.“Andtheseyoungpeople—theywillbediscreet.”
“Thenewspaperswillgetholdofit,anyway,soonenough,”saidtheinspector.“There’snorealsecretaboutthematter.Well,thedeadwoman’sMrs.Grant,allright.Ihadtheporteruptoidentifyher.Womanofaboutthirty-five.Shewassittingatthetable,andshewasshotwithanautomaticpistolofsmallcalibre,probablybysomeonesittingoppositeherattable.Shefellforward,andthat’showthebloodstaincameonthetable.”
“Butwouldn’tsomeonehaveheardtheshot?”askedMildred.
“Thepistolwasfittedwithasilencer.No,youwouldn’thearanything.Bytheway,didyouhearthescreechthemaidletoutwhenwetoldherhermistresswasdead?No.Well,thatjustshowshowunlikelyitwasthatanyonewouldheartheother.”
“Hasthemaidnostorytotell?”askedPoirot.
“Itwashereveningout.She’sgotherownkey.Shecameinaboutteno’clock.Everythingwasquiet.Shethoughthermistresshadgonetobed.”
“Shedidnotlookinthesittingroom,then?”
“Yes,shetookthelettersintherewhichhadcomebytheeveningpost,butshesawnothingunusual—anymorethanMr.FaulkenerandMr.Baileydid.Yousee,themurdererhadconcealedthebodyratherneatlybehindthecurtains.”
“Butitwasacuriousthingtodo,don’tyouthink?”
Poirot’svoicewasverygentle,yetitheldsomethingthatmadetheinspectorlookupquickly.
“Didn’twantthecrimediscoveredtillhe’dhadtimetomakehisgetaway.”
“Perhaps,perhaps—butcontinuewithwhatyouweresaying.”
“Themaidwentoutatfiveo’clock.Thedoctorhereputsthetimeofdeathas—roughly—aboutfourtofivehoursago.That’sright,isn’tit?”
Thedoctor,whowasamanoffewwords,contentedhimselfwithjerkinghisheadaffirmatively.
“It’saquartertotwelvenow.Theactualtimecan,Ithink,benarroweddowntoafairlydefinitehour.”
Hetookoutacrumpledsheetofpaper.
“Wefoundthisinthepocketofthedeadwoman’sdress.Youneedn’tbeafraidofhandlingit.Therearenofingerprintsonit.”
Poirotsmoothedoutthesheet.Acrossitsomewordswereprintedinsmall,primcapitals.
IWILLCOMETOSEEYOUTHISEVENINGATHALFPASTSEVENJ.F.
“Acompromisingdocumenttoleavebehind,”commentedPoirot,ashehandeditback.
“Well,hedidn’tknowshe’dgotitinherpocket,”saidtheinspector.“Heprobablythoughtshe’ddestroyedit.We’veevidencethathewasacarefulman,though.Thepistolshewasshotwithwefoundunderthebody—andthereagainnofingerprints.They’dbeenwipedoffverycarefullywithasilkhandkerchief.”
“Howdoyouknow,”saidPoirot,“thatitwasasilkhandkerchief?”
“Becausewefoundit,”saidtheinspectortriumphantly.“Atthelast,ashewasdrawingthecurtains,hemusthaveletitfallunnoticed.”
Hehandedacrossabigwhitesilkhandkerchief—agood-qualityhandkerchief.Itdidnotneedtheinspector’sfingertodrawPoirot’sattentiontothemarkonitinthecentre.Itwasneatlymarkedandquitelegible.Poirotreadthenameout.
“JohnFraser.”
“That’sit,”saidtheinspector.“JohnFraser—J.F.inthenote.Weknowthenameofthemanwehavetolookfor,andIdaresaywhenwefindoutalittleaboutthedeadwoman,andherrelationscomeforward,weshallsoongetalineonhim.”
“Iwonder,”saidPoirot.“No,moncher,somehowIdonotthinkhewillbeeasytofind,yourJohnFraser.Heisastrangeman—careful,sincehemarkshishandkerchiefsandwipesthepistolwithwhichhehascommittedthecrime—yetcarelesssinceheloseshishandkerchiefanddoesnotsearchforaletterthatmightincriminatehim.”
“Flurried,that’swhathewas,”saidtheinspector.
“Itispossible,”saidPoirot.“Yes,itispossible.Andhewasnotseenenteringthebuilding?”
“Thereareallsortsofpeoplegoinginandoutallthetime.Thesearebigblocks.Isupposenoneofyou—”headdressedthefourcollectively—“sawanyonecomingoutoftheflat?”
Patshookherhead.“Wewentoutearlier—aboutseveno’clock.”
“Isee.”Theinspectorrose.Poirotaccompaniedhimtothedoor.
“Asalittlefavour,mayIexaminetheflatbelow?”
“Why,certainly,M.Poirot.Iknowwhattheythinkofyouatheadquarters.I’llleaveyouakey.I’vegottwo.Itwillbeempty.Themaidclearedouttosomerelatives,tooscaredtostaytherealone.”
“Ithankyou,”saidM.Poirot.Hewentbackintotheflat,thoughtful.
“You’renotsatisfied,M.Poirot?”saidJimmy.
“No,”saidPoirot.“Iamnotsatisfied.”
Donovanlookedathimcuriously.“Whatisitthat—well,worriesyou?”
Poirotdidnotanswer.Heremainedsilentforaminuteortwo,frowning,asthoughinthought,thenhemadeasuddenimpatientmovementoftheshoulders.
“Iwillsaygoodnighttoyou,mademoiselle.Youmustbetired.Youhavehadmuchcookingtodo—eh?”
Patlaughed.“Onlytheomelette.Ididn’tdodinner.DonovanandJimmycameandcalledforus,andwewentouttoalittleplaceinSoho.”
“Andthenwithoutdoubt,youwenttoatheatre?”
“Yes.TheBrownEyesofCaroline.”
“Ah!”saidPoirot.“Itshouldhavebeenblueeyes—theblueeyesofmademoiselle.”
Hemadeasentimentalgesture,andthenoncemorewishedPatgoodnight,alsoMildred,whowasstayingthenightbyspecialrequest,asPatadmittedfranklythatshewouldgetthehorrorsifleftaloneonthisparticularnight.
ThetwoyoungmenaccompaniedPoirot.Whenthedoorwasshut,andtheywerepreparingtosaygood-byetohimonthelanding,Poirotforestalledthem.
“Myyoungfriends,youheardmesayIwasnotsatisfied?Ehbien,itistrue—Iamnot.Igonowtomakesomelittleinvestigationsofmyown.Youwouldliketoaccompanyme—yes?”
Aneagerassentgreetedthisproposal.Poirotledthewaytotheflatbelowandinsertedthekeytheinspectorhadgivenhiminthelock.Onentering,hedidnot,astheothershadexpected,enterthesittingroom.Insteadhewentstraighttothekitchen.Inalittlerecesswhichservedasasculleryabigironbinwasstanding.Poirotuncoveredthisand,doublinghimselfup,begantorootleinitwiththeenergyofaferociousterrier.
BothJimmyandDonovanstaredathiminamazement.
Suddenlywithacryoftriumphheemerged.Inhishandheheldaloftasmallstopperedbottle.
“Voilà!”hesaid.“IfindwhatIseek.”Hesniffedatitdelicately.“Alas!Iamenrhumé—Ihavethecoldinthehead.”
Donovantookthebottlefromhimandsniffedinhisturn,butcouldsmellnothing.HetookoutthestopperandheldthebottletohisnosebeforePoirot’swarningcrycouldstophim.
Immediatelyhefelllikealog.Poirot,byspringingforward,partlybrokehisfall.
“Imbecile!”hecried.“Theidea.Toremovethestopperinthatfoolhardymanner!DidhenotobservehowdelicatelyIhandledit?Monsieur—Faulkener—isitnot?Willyoubesogoodastogetmealittlebrandy?Iobservedadecanterinthesittingroom.”
Jimmyhurriedoff,butbythetimehereturned,Donovanwassittingupanddeclaringhimselfquiteallrightagain.HehadtolistentoashortlecturefromPoirotonthenecessityofcautioninsniffingatpossiblypoisonoussubstances.
“IthinkI’llbeoffhome,”saidDonovan,risingshakilytohisfeet.“Thatis,ifIcan’tbeanymoreusehere.Ifeelabitwonkystill.”
“Assuredly,”saidPoirot.“Thatisthebestthingyoucando.M.Faulkener,attendmeherealittleminute.Iwillreturnontheinstant.”
HeaccompaniedDonovantothedoorandbeyond.Theyremainedoutsideonthelandingtalkingforsomeminutes.WhenPoirotatlastre-enteredtheflathefoundJimmystandinginthesittingroomgazingroundhimwithpuzzledeyes.
“Well,M.Poirot,”hesaid,“whatnext?”
“Thereisnothingnext.Thecaseisfinished.”
“What?”
“Iknoweverything—now.”
Jimmystaredathim.“Thatlittlebottleyoufound?”
“Exactly.Thatlittlebottle.”
Jimmyshookhishead.“Ican’tmakeheadortailofit.ForsomereasonorotherIcanseeyouaredissatisfiedwiththeevidenceagainstthisJohnFraser,whoeverhemaybe.”
“Whoeverhemaybe,”repeatedPoirotsoftly.“Ifheisanyoneatall—well,Ishallbesurprised.”
“Idon’tunderstand.”
“Heisaname—thatisall—anamecarefullymarkedonahandkerchief!”
“Andtheletter?”
“Didyounoticethatitwasprinted?Now,why?Iwilltellyou.Handwritingmightberecognized,andatypewrittenletterismoreeasilytracedthanyouwouldimagine—butifarealJohnFraserwrotethatletterthosetwopointswouldnothaveappealedtohim!No,itwaswrittenonpurpose,andputinthedeadwoman’spocketforustofind.ThereisnosuchpersonasJohnFraser.”
Jimmylookedathiminquiringly.
“Andso,”wentonPoirot,“Iwentbacktothepointthatfirststruckme.Youheardmesaythatcertainthingsinaroomwerealwaysinthesameplaceundergivencircumstances.Igavethreeinstances.Imighthavementionedafourth—theelectriclightswitch,myfriend.”
Jimmystillstareduncomprehendingly.Poirotwenton.
“YourfriendDonovandidnotgonearthewindow—itwasbyrestinghishandonthistablethathegotitcoveredinblood!ButIaskedmyselfatonce—whydidherestitthere?Whatwashedoinggropingaboutthisroomindarkness?Forremember,myfriend,theelectriclightswitchisalwaysinthesameplace—bythedoor.Why,whenhecametothisroom,didhenotatoncefeelforthelightandturniton?Thatwasthenatural,thenormalthingtodo.Accordingtohim,hetriedtoturnonthelightinthekitchen,butfailed.YetwhenItriedtheswitchitwasinperfectworkingorder.Didhe,then,notwishthelighttogoonjustthen?Ifithadgoneonyouwouldbothhaveseenatoncethatyouwereinthewrongflat.Therewouldhavebeennoreasontocomeintothisroom.”
“Whatareyoudrivingat,M.Poirot?Idon’tunderstand.Whatdoyoumean?”
“Imean—this.”
PoirotheldupaYaledoorkey.
“Thekeyofthisflat?”
“No,monami,thekeyoftheflatabove.MademoisellePatricia’skey,whichM.DonovanBaileyabstractedfromherbagsometimeduringtheevening.”
“Butwhy—why?”
“Parbleu!Sothathecoulddowhathewantedtodo—gainadmissiontothisflatinaperfectlyunsuspiciousmanner.Hemadesurethattheliftdoorwasunboltedearlierintheevening.”
“Wheredidyougetthekey?”
Poirot’ssmilebroadened.“Ifounditjustnow—whereIlookedforit—inM.Donovan’spocket.Seeyou,thatlittlebottleIpretendedtofindwasaruse.M.Donovanistakenin.HedoeswhatIknewhewoulddo—unstoppersitandsniffs.Andinthatlittlebottleisethylchloride,averypowerfulinstantanaesthetic.ItgivesmejustthemomentortwoofunconsciousnessIneed.ItakefromhispocketthetwothingsthatIknewwouldbethere.Thiskeywasoneofthem—theother—”
Hestoppedandthenwenton.
“Iquestionedatthetimethereasontheinspectorgaveforthebodybeingconcealedbehindthecurtain.Togaintime?No,therewasmorethanthat.AndsoIthoughtofjustonething—thepost,myfriend.Theeveningpostthatcomesathalfpastnineorthereabouts.Saythemurdererdoesnotfindsomethingheexpectstofind,butthatsomethingmaybedeliveredbypostlater.Clearly,then,hemustcomeback.Butthecrimemustnotbediscoveredbythemaidwhenshecomesin,orthepolicewouldtakepossessionoftheflat,sohehidesthebodybehindthecurtain.Andthemaidsuspectsnothingandlaysthelettersonthetableasusual.”
“Theletters?”
“Yes,theletters.”Poirotdrewsomethingfromhispocket.“ThisisthesecondarticleItookfromM.Donovanwhenhewasunconscious.”Heshowedthesuperscription—atypewrittenenvelopeaddressedtoMrs.ErnestineGrant.“ButIwillaskyouonethingfirst,M.Faulkener,beforewelookatthecontentsofthisletter.AreyouorareyounotinlovewithMademoisellePatricia?”
“IcareforPatdamnably—butI’veneverthoughtIhadachance.”
“YouthoughtthatshecaredforM.Donovan?Itmaybethatshehadbeguntocareforhim—butitwasonlyabeginning,myfriend.Itisforyoutomakeherforget—tostandbyherinhertrouble.”
“Trouble?”saidJimmysharply.
“Yes,trouble.Wewilldoallwecantokeephernameoutofit,butitwillbeimpossibletodosoentirely.Shewas,yousee,themotive.”
Herippedopentheenvelopethatheheld.Anenclosurefellout.Thecoveringletterwasbrief,andwasfromafirmofsolicitors.
DearMadam,Thedocumentyouencloseisquiteinorder,andthefactofthemarriagehavingtakenplaceinaforeigncountrydoesnotinvalidateitinanyway.Yourstruly,etc.
Poirotspreadouttheenclosure.ItwasacertificateofmarriagebetweenDonovanBaileyandErnestineGrant,datedeightyearsago.
“Oh,myGod!”saidJimmy.“Patsaidshe’dhadaletterfromthewomanaskingtoseeher,butsheneverdreameditwasanythingimportant.”
Poirotnodded.“Donovanknew—hewenttoseehiswifethiseveningbeforegoingtotheflatabove—astrangeirony,bytheway,thatledtheunfortunatewomantocometothisbuildingwhereherrivallived—hemurderedherincoldblood,andthenwentontohisevening’samusement.Hiswifemusthavetoldhimthatshehadsentthemarriagecertificatetohersolicitorsandwasexpectingtohearfromthem.Doubtlesshehimselfhadtriedtomakeherbelievethattherewasaflawinthemarriage.”
“Heseemedinquitegoodspirits,too,alltheevening.M.Poirot,youhaven’tlethimescape?”Jimmyshuddered.
“Thereisnoescapeforhim,”saidPoirotgravely.“Youneednotfear.”
“It’sPatI’mthinkingaboutmostly,”saidJimmy.“Youdon’tthink—shereallycared.”
“Monami,thatisyourpart,”saidPoirotgently.“Tomakeherturntoyouandforget.Idonotthinkyouwillfinditverydifficult!”
Seven
THEADVENTUREOFJOHNNIEWAVERLY
“TheAdventureofJohnnieWaverly”wasfirstpublishedas“TheKidnappingofJohnnieWaverly”inTheSketch,10October1923.
Youcanunderstandthefeelingsofamother,”saidMrs.Waverlyforperhapsthesixthtime.
ShelookedappealinglyatPoirot.Mylittlefriend,alwayssympathetictomotherhoodindistress,gesticulatedreassuringly.
“Butyes,butyes,Icomprehendperfectly.HavefaithinPapaPoirot.”
“Thepolice—”beganMr.Waverly.
Hiswifewavedtheinterruptionaside.“Iwon’thaveanythingmoretodowiththepolice.Wetrustedtothemandlookwhathappened!ButI’dheardsomuchofM.Poirotandthewonderfulthingshe’ddone,thatIfelthemightpossiblybeabletohelpus.Amother’sfeelings—”
Poirothastilystemmedthereiterationwithaneloquentgesture.Mrs.Waverly’semotionwasobviouslygenuine,butitassortedstrangelywithhershrewd,ratherhardtypeofcountenance.WhenIheardlaterthatshewasthedaughterofaprominentsteelmanufacturerwhohadworkedhiswayupintheworldfromanofficeboytohispresenteminence,Irealizedthatshehadinheritedmanyofthepaternalqualities.
Mr.Waverlywasabig,florid,jovial-lookingman.Hestoodwithhislegsstraddledwideapartandlookedthetypeofthecountrysquire.
“Isupposeyouknowallaboutthisbusiness,M.Poirot?”
Thequestionwasalmostsuperfluous.ForsomedayspastthepapershadbeenfullofthesensationalkidnappingoflittleJohnnieWaverly,thethree-year-oldsonandheirofMarcusWaverly,Esq.,ofWaverlyCourt,Surrey,oneoftheoldestfamiliesinEngland.
“ThemainfactsIknow,ofcourse,butrecounttomethewholestory,monsieur,Ibegofyou.Andindetailifyouplease.”
“Well,IsupposethebeginningofthewholethingwasabouttendaysagowhenIgotananonymousletter—beastlythings,anyway—thatIcouldn’tmakeheadortailof.ThewriterhadtheimpudencetodemandthatIshouldpayhimtwenty-fivethousandpounds—twenty-fivethousandpounds,M.Poirot!Failingmyagreement,hethreatenedtokidnapJohnnie.OfcourseIthrewthethingintothewastepaperbasketwithoutmoreado.Thoughtitwassomesillyjoke.FivedayslaterIgotanotherletter.‘Unlessyoupay,yoursonwillbekidnappedonthetwenty-ninth.’Thatwasonthetwenty-seventh.Adawasworried,butIcouldn’tbringmyselftotreatthematterseriously.Damnitall,we’reinEngland.Nobodygoesaboutkidnappingchildrenandholdingthemuptoransom.”
“Itisnotacommonpractice,certainly,”saidPoirot.“Proceed,monsieur.”
“Well,Adagavemenopeace,so—feelingabitofafool—IlaidthematterbeforeScotlandYard.Theydidn’tseemtotakethethingveryseriously—inclinedtomyviewthatitwassomesillyjoke.Onthetwenty-eighthIgotathirdletter.‘Youhavenotpaid.Yoursonwillbetakenfromyouattwelveo’clocknoontomorrow,thetwenty-ninth.Itwillcostyoufiftythousandpoundstorecoverhim.’UpIdrovetoScotlandYardagain.Thistimetheyweremoreimpressed.Theyinclinedtotheviewthattheletterswerewrittenbyalunatic,andthatinallprobabilityanattemptofsomekindwouldbemadeatthehourstated.Theyassuredmethattheywouldtakealldueprecautions.InspectorMcNeilandasufficientforcewouldcomedowntoWaverlyonthemorrowandtakecharge.
“Iwenthomemuchrelievedinmind.Yetwealreadyhadthefeelingofbeinginastateofsiege.Igaveordersthatnostrangerwastobeadmitted,andthatnoonewastoleavethehouse.Theeveningpassedoffwithoutanyuntowardincident,butonthefollowingmorningmywifewasseriouslyunwell.Alarmedbyhercondition,IsentforDoctorDakers.Hersymptomsappearedtopuzzlehim.Whilehesitatingtosuggestthatshehadbeenpoisoned,Icouldseethatthatwaswhatwasinhismind.Therewasnodanger,heassuredme,butitwouldbeadayortwobeforeshewouldbeabletogetaboutagain.Returningtomyownroom,Iwasstartledandamazedtofindanotepinnedtomypillow.Itwasinthesamehandwritingastheothersandcontainedjustthreewords:‘Attwelveo’clock.’
“Iadmit,M.Poirot,thatthenIsawred!Someoneinthehousewasinthis—oneoftheservants.Ihadthemallup,blackguardedthemrightandleft.Theyneversplitoneachother;itwasMissCollins,mywife’scompanion,whoinformedmethatshehadseenJohnnie’snurseslipdownthedriveearlythatmorning.Itaxedherwithit,andshebrokedown.Shehadleftthechildwiththenurserymaidandstolenouttomeetafriendofhers—aman!Prettygoingson!Shedeniedhavingpinnedthenotetomypillow—shemayhavebeenspeakingthetruth,Idon’tknow.IfeltIcouldn’ttaketheriskofthechild’sownnursebeingintheplot.Oneoftheservantswasimplicated—ofthatIwassure.FinallyIlostmytemperandsackedthewholebunch,nurseandall.Igavethemanhourtopacktheirboxesandgetoutofthehouse.”
Mr.Waverly’sfacewasquitetwoshadesredderasherememberedhisjustwrath.
“Wasnotthatalittleinjudicious,monsieur?”suggestedPoirot.“Forallyouknow,youmighthavebeenplayingintotheenemy’shands.”
Mr.Waverlystaredathim.“Idon’tseethat.Sendthewholelotpacking,thatwasmyidea.IwiredtoLondonforafreshlottobesentdownthatevening.Inthemeantime,there’dbeonlypeopleIcouldtrustinthehouse:mywife’ssecretary,MissCollins,andTredwell,thebutler,whohasbeenwithmesinceIwasaboy.”
“AndthisMissCollins,howlonghasshebeenwithyou?”
“Justayear,”saidMrs.Waverly.“Shehasbeeninvaluabletomeasasecretary-companion,andisalsoaveryefficienthousekeeper.”
“Thenurse?”
“Shehasbeenwithmesixmonths.Shecametomewithexcellentreferences.Allthesame,Ineverreallylikedher,althoughJohnniewasquitedevotedtoher.”
“Still,Igathershehadalreadyleftwhenthecatastropheoccurred.Perhaps,MonsieurWaverly,youwillbesokindastocontinue.”
Mr.Waverlyresumedhisnarrative.
“InspectorMcNeilarrivedabouttenthirty.Theservantshadallleftbythen.Hedeclaredhimselfquitesatisfiedwiththeinternalarrangements.Hehadvariousmenpostedintheparkoutside,guardingalltheapproachestothehouse,andheassuredmethatifthewholethingwerenotahoax,weshouldundoubtedlycatchmymysteriouscorrespondent
“IhadJohnniewithme,andheandIandtheinspectorwenttogetherintotheroomwecallthecouncilchamber.Theinspectorlockedthedoor.Thereisabiggrandfatherclockthere,andasthehandsdrewneartotwelveIdon’tmindconfessingthatIwasasnervousasacat.Therewasawhirringsound,andtheclockbegantostrike.IclutchedatJohnnie.Ihadafeelingamanmightdropfromtheskies.Thelaststrokesounded,andasitdidso,therewasagreatcommotionoutside—shoutingandrunning.Theinspectorflungupthewindow,andaconstablecamerunningup.
“‘We’vegothimsir,’hepanted.‘Hewassneakingupthroughthebushes.He’sgotawholedopeoutfitonhim.’
“Wehurriedoutontheterracewheretwoconstableswereholdingaruffianly-lookingfellowinshabbyclothes,whowastwistingandturninginavainendeavourtoescape.Oneofthepolicemenheldoutanunrolledparcelwhichtheyhadwrestedfromtheircaptive.Itcontainedapadofcottonwoolandabottleofchloroform.Itmademybloodboiltoseeit.Therewasanote,too,addressedtome.Itoreitopen.Itborethefollowingwords:‘Youshouldhavepaidup.Toransomyoursonwillnowcostyoufiftythousand.Inspiteofallyourprecautionshehasbeenabductedonthetwenty-ninthasIsaid.’
“Igaveagreatlaugh,thelaughofrelief,butasIdidsoIheardthehumofamotorandashout.Iturnedmyhead.Racingdownthedrivetowardsthesouthlodgeatafuriousspeedwasalow,longgreycar.Itwasthemanwhodroveitwhoshouted,butthatwasnotwhatgavemeashockofhorror.ItwasthesightofJohnnie’sflaxencurls.Thechildwasinthecarbesidehim.
“Theinspectorrippedoutanoath.‘Thechildwasherenotaminuteago,’hecried.Hiseyessweptoverus.Wewereallthere:myself,Tredwell,MissCollins.‘Whendidyoulastseehim,Mr.Waverly?’
“Icastmymindback,tryingtoremember.Whentheconstablehadcalledus,Ihadrunoutwiththeinspector,forgettingallaboutJohnnie.
“Andthentherecameasoundthatstartledus,thechimingofachurchclockfromthevillage.Withanexclamationtheinspectorpulledouthiswatch.Itwasexactlytwelveo’clock.Withonecommonaccordwerantothecouncilchamber;theclocktheremarkedthehourastenminutespast.Someonemusthavedeliberatelytamperedwithit,forIhaveneverknownitgainorlosebefore.Itisaperfecttimekeeper.”
Mr.Waverlypaused.Poirotsmiledtohimselfandstraightenedalittlematwhichtheanxiousfatherhadpushedaskew.
“Apleasinglittleproblem,obscureandcharming,”murmuredPoirot.“Iwillinvestigateitforyouwithpleasure.Trulyitwasplannedàmerveille.”
Mrs.Waverlylookedathimreproachfully.“Butmyboy,”shewailed.
Poirothastilycomposedhisfaceandlookedthepictureofearnestsympathyagain.“Heissafe,madame,heisunharmed.Restassured,thesemiscreantswilltakethegreatestcareofhim.Ishenottothemtheturkey—no,thegoose—thatlaysthegoldeneggs?”
“M.Poirot,I’msurethere’sonlyonethingtobedone—payup.Iwasallagainstitatfirst—butnow!Amother’sfeelings—”
“Butwehaveinterruptedmonsieurinhishistory,”criedPoirothastily.
“Iexpectyouknowtherestprettywellfromthepapers,”saidMr.Waverly.“Ofcourse,InspectorMcNeilgotontothetelephoneimmediately.Adescriptionofthecarandthemanwascirculatedallround,anditlookedatfirstasthougheverythingwasgoingtoturnoutallright.Acar,answeringtothedescription,withamanandasmallboy,hadpassedthroughvariousvillages,apparentlymakingforLondon.Atoneplacetheyhadstopped,anditwasnoticedthatthechildwascryingandobviouslyafraidofhiscompanion.WhenInspectorMcNeilannouncedthatthecarhadbeenstoppedandthemanandboydetained,Iwasalmostillwithrelief.Youknowthesequel.TheboywasnotJohnnie,andthemanwasanardentmotorist,fondofchildren,whohadpickedupasmallchildplayinginthestreetsofEdenswell,avillageaboutfifteenmilesfromus,andwaskindlygivinghimaride.Thankstothecocksureblunderingofthepolice,alltraceshavedisappeared.Hadtheynotpersistentlyfollowedthewrongcar,theymightbynowhavefoundtheboy.”
“Calmyourself,monsieur.Thepoliceareabraveandintelligentforceofmen.Theirmistakewasaverynaturalone.Andaltogetheritwasacleverscheme.Astothemantheycaughtinthegrounds,Iunderstandthathisdefencehasconsistedallalongofapersistentdenial.HedeclaredthatthenoteandparcelweregiventohimtodeliveratWaverlyCourt.Themanwhogavethemtohimhandedhimaten-shillingnoteandpromisedhimanotherifitweredeliveredatexactlytenminutestotwelve.Hewastoapproachthehousethroughthegroundsandknockatthesidedoor.”
“Idon’tbelieveawordofit,”declaredMrs.Waverlyhotly.“It’sallaparceloflies.”
“Enverité,itisathinstory,”saidPoirotreflectively.“Butsofartheyhavenotshakenit.Iunderstand,also,thathemadeacertainaccusation?”
HisglanceinterrogatedMr.Waverly.Thelattergotratherredagain.
“ThefellowhadtheimpertinencetopretendthatherecognizedinTredwellthemanwhogavehimtheparcel.‘Onlytheblokehasshavedoffhismoustache.’Tredwell,whowasbornontheestate!”
Poirotsmiledalittleatthecountrygentleman’sindignation.“Yetyouyourselfsuspectaninmateofthehousetohavebeenaccessorytotheabduction.”
“Yes,butnotTredwell.”
“Andyou,madame?”askedPoirot,suddenlyturningtoher.
“ItcouldnothavebeenTredwellwhogavethistramptheletterandparcel—ifanybodyeverdid,whichIdon’tbelieve.Itwasgivenhimatteno’clock,hesays.Atteno’clockTredwellwaswithmyhusbandinthesmokingroom.”
“Wereyouabletoseethefaceofthemaninthecar,monsieur?DiditresemblethatofTredwellinanyway?”
“Itwastoofarawayformetoseehisface.”
“HasTredwellabrother,doyouknow?”
“Hehadseveral,buttheyarealldead.Thelastonewaskilledinthewar.”
“IamnotyetclearastothegroundsofWaverlyCourt.Thecarwasheadingforthesouthlodge.Isthereanotherentrance?”
“Yes,whatwecalltheeastlodge.Itcanbeseenfromtheothersideofthehouse.”
“Itseemstomestrangethatnobodysawthecarenteringthegrounds.”
“Thereisarightofwaythrough,andaccesstoasmallchapel.Agoodmanycarspassthrough.Themanmusthavestoppedthecarinaconvenientplaceandrunuptothehousejustasthealarmwasgivenandattentionattractedelsewhere.”
“Unlesshewasalreadyinsidethehouse,”musedPoirot.“Isthereanyplacewherehecouldhavehidden?”
“Well,wecertainlydidn’tmakeathoroughsearchofthehousebeforehand.Thereseemednoneed.Isupposehemighthavehiddenhimselfsomewhere,butwhowouldhavelethimin?”
“Weshallcometothatlater.Onethingatatime—letusbemethodical.Thereisnospecialhidingplaceinthehouse?WaverlyCourtisanoldplace,andtherearesometimes‘priests’holes,’astheycallthem.”
“Bygad,thereisapriest’shole.Itopensfromoneofthepanelsinthehall.”
“Nearthecouncilchamber?”
“Justoutsidethedoor.”
“Voilà!”
“Butnobodyknowsofitsexistenceexceptmywifeandmyself.”
“Tredwell?”
“Well—hemighthaveheardofit.”
“MissCollins?”
“Ihavenevermentionedittoher.”
Poirotreflectedforaminute.
“Well,monsieur,thenextthingisformetocomedowntoWaverlyCourt.IfIarrivethisafternoon,willitsuityou?”
“Oh,assoonaspossible,please,MonsieurPoirot!”criedMrs.Waverly.“Readthisoncemore.”
ShethrustintohishandsthelastmissivefromtheenemywhichhadreachedtheWaverlysthatmorningandwhichhadsentherposthastetoPoirot.Itgavecleverandexplicitdirectionsforthepayingoverofthemoney,andendedwithathreatthattheboy’slifewouldpayforanytreachery.ItwasclearthataloveofmoneywarredwiththeessentialmotherloveofMrs.Waverly,andthatthelatterwasatlastgainingtheday
PoirotdetainedMrs.Waverlyforaminutebehindherhusband.
“Madame,thetruth,ifyouplease.Doyoushareyourhusband’sfaithinthebutler,Tredwell?”
“Ihavenothingagainsthim,MonsieurPoirot,Icannotseehowhecanhavebeenconcernedinthis,but—well,Ihaveneverlikedhim—never!”
“Oneotherthing,madame,canyougivemetheaddressofthechild’snurse?”
“149NetherallRoad,Hammersmith.Youdon’timagine—”
“NeverdoIimagine.Only—Iemploythelittlegreycells.Andsometimes,justsometimes,Ihavealittleidea.”
Poirotcamebacktomeasthedoorclosed.
“Somadamehasneverlikedthebutler.Itisinteresting,that,eh,Hastings?”
Irefusedtobedrawn.PoirothasdeceivedmesooftenthatInowgowarily.Thereisalwaysacatchsomewhere.
Aftercompletinganelaborateoutdoortoilet,wesetoffforNetherallRoad.WewerefortunateenoughtofindMissJessieWithersathome.Shewasapleasant-facedwomanofthirty-five,capableandsuperior.Icouldnotbelievethatshecouldbemixedupintheaffair.Shewasbitterlyresentfulofthewayshehadbeendismissed,butadmittedthatshehadbeeninthewrong.Shewasengagedtobemarriedtoapainteranddecoratorwhohappenedtobeintheneighbourhood,andshehadrunouttomeethim.Thethingseemednaturalenough.IcouldnotquiteunderstandPoirot.Allhisquestionsseemedtomequiteirrelevant.TheywereconcernedmainlywiththedailyroutineofherlifeatWaverlyCourt.IwasfranklyboredandgladwhenPoirottookhisdeparture.
“Kidnappingisaneasyjob,monami,”heobserved,ashehailedataxiintheHammersmithRoadandorderedittodrivetoWaterloo.“Thatchildcouldhavebeenabductedwiththegreatesteaseanydayforthelastthreeyears.”
“Idon’tseethatthatadvancesusmuch,”Iremarkedcoldly.
“Aucontraire,itadvancesusenormously,butenormously!Ifyoumustwearatiepin,Hastings,atleastletitbeintheexactcentreofyourtie.Atpresentitisatleastasixteenthofaninchtoomuchtotheright.”
WaverlyCourtwasafineoldplaceandhadrecentlybeenrestoredwithtasteandcare.Mr.Waverlyshowedusthecouncilchamber,theterrace,andallthevariousspotsconnectedwiththecase.Finally,atPoirot’srequest,hepressedaspringinthewall,apanelslidaside,andashortpassageledusintothepriest’shole.
“Yousee,”saidWaverly.“Thereisnothinghere.”
Thetinyroomwasbareenough,therewasnoteventhemarkofafootsteponthefloor.IjoinedPoirotwherehewasbendingattentivelyoveramarkinthecorner.
“Whatdoyoumakeofthis,myfriend?”
Therewerefourimprintsclosetogether
“Adog,”Icried.
“Averysmalldog,Hastings.”
“APom.”
“SmallerthanaPom.”
“Agriffon?”Isuggesteddoubtfully.
“Smallereventhanagriffon.AspeciesunknowntotheKennelClub.”
Ilookedathim.Hisfacewasalightwithexcitementandsatisfaction.
“Iwasright,”hemurmured.“IknewIwasright.Come,Hastings.”
Aswesteppedoutintothehallandthepanelclosedbehindus,ayoungladycameoutofadoorfartherdownthepassage.Mr.Waverlypresentedhertous.
“MissCollins.”
MissCollinswasaboutthirtyyearsofage,briskandalertinmanner.Shehadfair,ratherdullhair,andworepince-nez.
AtPoirot’srequest,wepassedintoasmallmorningroom,andhequestionedhercloselyastotheservantsandparticularlyastoTredwell.Sheadmittedthatshedidnotlikethebutler.
“Hegiveshimselfairs,”sheexplained.
TheythenwentintothequestionofthefoodeatenbyMrs.Waverlyonthenightofthe28th.MissCollinsdeclaredthatshehadpartakenofthesamedishesupstairsinhersittingroomandhadfeltnoilleffects.AsshewasdepartingInudgedPoirot.
“Thedog,”Iwhispered.
“Ah,yes,thedog!”Hesmiledbroadly.“Isthereadogkeptherebyanychance,mademoiselle?”
“Therearetworetrieversinthekennelsoutside.”
“No,Imeanasmalldog,atoydog.”
“No—nothingofthekind.”
Poirotpermittedhertodepart.Then,pressingthebell,heremarkedtome,“Shelies,thatMademoiselleCollins.PossiblyIshould,also,inherplace.Nowforthebutler.”
Tredwellwasadignifiedindividual.Hetoldhisstorywithperfectaplomb,anditwasessentiallythesameasthatofMr.Waverly.Headmittedthatheknewthesecretofthepriest’shole.
Whenhefinallywithdrew,pontificaltothelast,ImetPoirot’squizzicaleyes.
“Whatdoyoumakeofitall,Hastings?”
“Whatdoyou?”Iparried.
“Howcautiousyoubecome.Never,neverwillthegreycellsfunctionunlessyoustimulatethem.Ah,butIwillnotteaseyou!Letusmakeourdeductionstogether.Whatpointsstrikeusspeciallyasbeingdifficult?”
“Thereisonethingthatstrikesme,”Isaid.“Whydidthemanwhokidnappedthechildgooutbythesouthlodgeinsteadofbytheeastlodgewherenoonewouldseehim?”
“Thatisaverygoodpoint,Hastings,anexcellentone.Iwillmatchitwithanother.WhywarntheWaverlysbeforehand?Whynotsimplykidnapthechildandholdhimtoransom?”
“Becausetheyhopedtogetthemoneywithoutbeingforcedtoaction.”
“Surelyitwasveryunlikelythatthemoneywouldbepaidonamerethreat?”
“Alsotheywantedtofocusattentionontwelveo’clock,sothatwhenthetrampmanwasseized,theothercouldemergefromhishidingplaceandgetawaywiththechildunnoticed.”
“Thatdoesnotalterthefactthattheyweremakingathingdifficultthatwasperfectlyeasy.Iftheydonotspecifyatimeordate,nothingwouldbeeasierthantowaittheirchance,andcarryoffthechildinamotoronedaywhenheisoutwithhisnurse.”
“Ye—es,”Iadmitteddoubtfully.
“Infact,thereisadeliberateplayingofthefarce!Nowletusapproachthequestionfromanotherside.Everythinggoestoshowthattherewasanaccompliceinsidethehouse.Pointnumberone,themysteriouspoisoningofMrs.Waverly.Pointnumbertwo,theletterpinnedtothepillow.Pointnumberthree,theputtingonoftheclocktenminutes—allinsidejobs.Andanadditionalfactthatyoumaynothavenoticed.Therewasnodustinthepriest’shole.Ithadbeensweptoutwithabroom.
“Nowthen,wehavefourpeopleinthehouse.Wecanexcludethenurse,sinceshecouldnothavesweptoutthepriest’shole,thoughshecouldhaveattendedtotheotherthreepoints.Fourpeople,Mr.andMrs.Waverly,Tredwell,thebutler,andMissCollins.WewilltakeMissCollinsfirst.Wehavenothingmuchagainsther,exceptthatweknowvery
“Sheliedaboutthedog,yousaid,”Iremindedhim.
“Ah,yes,thedog.”Poirotgaveapeculiarsmile.“NowletuspasstoTredwell.Thereareseveralsuspiciousfactsagainsthim.Foronething,thetrampdeclaresthatitwasTredwellwhogavehimtheparcelinthevillage.”
“ButTredwellcanproveanalibionthatpoint.”
“Eventhen,hecouldhavepoisonedMrs.Waverly,pinnedthenotetothepillow,putontheclock,andsweptoutthepriest’shole.Ontheotherhand,hehasbeenbornandbredintheserviceoftheWaverlys.Itseemsunlikelyinthelastdegreethatheshouldconniveattheabductionofthesonofthehouse.Itisnotinthepicture!”
“Well,then?”
“Wemustproceedlogically—howeverabsurditmayseem.WewillbrieflyconsiderMrs.Waverly.Butsheisrich,themoneyishers.Itishermoneywhichhasrestoredthisimpoverishedestate.Therewouldbenoreasonforhertokidnaphersonandpayoverhermoneytoherself.Thehusband,no,isinadifferentposition.Hehasarichwife.Itisnotthesamethingasbeingrichhimself—infactIhavealittleideathattheladyisnotveryfondofpartingwithhermoney,exceptonaverygoodpretext.ButMr.Waverly,youcanseeatonce,heisabonviveur.”
“Impossible,”Ispluttered.
“Notatall.Whosendsawaytheservants?Mr.Waverly.Hecanwritethenotes,drughiswife,putonthehandsoftheclock,andestablishanexcellentalibiforhisfaithfulretainerTredwell.TredwellhasneverlikedMrs.Waverly.Heisdevotedtohismasterandiswillingtoobeyhisordersimplicitly.Therewerethreeoftheminit.Waverly,Tredwell,andsomefriendofWaverly.Thatisthemistakethepolicemade,theymadenofurtherinquiriesaboutthemanwhodrovethegreycarwiththewrongchildinit.Hewasthethirdman.Hepicksupachildinavillagenearby,aboywithflaxencurls.Hedrivesinthroughtheeastlodgeandpassesoutthroughthesouthlodgejustattherightmoment,wavinghishandandshouting.Theycannotseehisfaceorthenumberofthecar,soobviouslytheycannotseethechild’sface,either.ThenhelaysafalsetrailtoLondon.Inthemeantime,Tredwellhasdonehispartinarrangingfortheparcelandnotetobedeliveredbyarough-lookinggentleman.Hismastercanprovideanalibiintheunlikelycaseofthemanrecognizinghim,inspiteofthefalsemoustachehewore.AsforMr.Waverly,assoonasthehullabaloooccursoutside,andtheinspectorrushesout,hequicklyhidesthechildinthepriest’shole,followshimout.Laterintheday,whentheinspectorisgoneandMissCollinsisoutoftheway,itwillbeeasyenoughtodrivehimofftosomesafeplaceinhisowncar.”
“Butwhataboutthedog?”Iasked.“AndMissCollinslying?”
“Thatwasmylittlejoke.Iaskedheriftherewereanytoydogsinthehouse,andshesaidno—butdoubtlesstherearesome—inthenursery!Yousee,Mr.Waverlyplacedsometoysinthepriest’sholetokeepJohnnieamusedandquiet.”
“M.Poirot—”Mr.Waverlyenteredtheroom—“haveyoudiscoveredanything?Haveyouanycluetowheretheboyhasbeentaken?”
Poirothandedhimapieceofpaper.“Hereistheaddress.”
“Butthisisablanksheet.”
“BecauseIamwaitingforyoutowriteitdownforme.”
“Whatthe—”Mr.Waverly’sfaceturnedpurple.
“Iknoweverything,monsieur.Igiveyoutwenty-fourhourstoreturntheboy.Youringenuitywillbeequaltothetaskofexplaininghisreappearance.Otherwise,Mrs.Waverlywillbeinformedoftheexactsequenceofevents.”
Mr.Waverlysankdowninachairandburiedhisfaceinhishands.“Heiswithmyoldnurse,tenmilesaway.Heishappyandwellcaredfor.”
“Ihavenodoubtofthat.IfIdidnotbelieveyoutobeagoodfatheratheart,Ishouldnotbewillingtogiveyouanotherchance.”
“Thescandal—”
“Exactly.Yournameisanoldandhonouredone.Donotjeopardizeitagain.Goodevening,Mr.Waverly.Ah,bytheway,onewordofadvice.Alwayssweepinthecorners!”
Eight
FOURANDTWENTYBLACKBIRDS
“Four-and-TwentyBlackbirds”wasfirstpublishedintheUSAas“FourandTwentyBlackbirds”inCollier’sMagazine,9November1940,thenas“PoirotandtheRegularCustomer”inTheStrand,March1941.
HerculePoirotwasdiningwithhisfriend,HenryBonningtonattheGallantEndeavourintheKing’sRoad,Chelsea.
Mr.BonningtonwasfondoftheGallantEndeavour.Helikedtheleisurelyatmosphere,helikedthefoodwhichwas“plain”and“English”and“notalotofmadeupmesses.”HelikedtotellpeoplewhodinedwithhimtherejustexactlywhereAugustusJohnhadbeenwonttositanddrawtheirattentiontothefamousartists’namesinthevisitors’book.Mr.Bonningtonwashimselftheleastartisticofmen—buthetookacertainprideintheartisticactivitiesofothers.
Molly,thesympatheticwaitress,greetedMr.Bonningtonasanoldfriend.Shepridedherselfonrememberinghercustomers’likesanddislikesinthewayoffood.
“Goodevening,sir,”shesaid,asthetwomentooktheirseatsatacornertable.“You’reinlucktoday—turkeystuffedwithchestnuts—that’syourfavourite,isn’tit?AndeversuchaniceStiltonwe’vegot!Willyouhavesoupfirstorfish?”
Mr.Bonningtondeliberatedthepoint.HesaidtoPoirotwarninglyasthelatterstudiedthemenu:
“NoneofyourFrenchkickshawsnow.Goodwell-cookedEnglishfood.”
“Myfriend,”HerculePoirotwavedhishand,“Iasknobetter!Iputmyselfinyourhandsunreservedly.”
“Ah—hruup—er—hm,”repliedMr.Bonningtonandgavecarefulattentiontothematter.
Theseweightymatters,andthequestionofwine,settled,Mr.BonningtonleanedbackwithasighandunfoldedhisnapkinasMollyspedaway.
“Goodgirl,that,”hesaidapprovingly.“Wasquiteabeautyonce—artistsusedtopainther.Sheknowsaboutfood,too—andthat’sagreatdealmoreimportant.Womenareveryunsoundonfoodasarule.There’smanyawomanifshegoesoutwithafellowshefancies—won’tevennoticewhatsheeats.She’lljustorderthefirstthingshesees.”
HerculePoirotshookhishead.
“C’estterrible.”
“Menaren’tlikethat,thankGod!”saidMr.Bonningtoncomplacently.
“Never?”TherewasatwinkleinHerculePoirot’seye.
“Well,perhapswhenthey’reveryyoung,”concededMr.Bonnington.“Youngpuppies!Youngfellowsnowadaysareallthesame—noguts—nostamina.I’venousefortheyoung—andthey,”headdedwithstrictimpartiality,“havenouseforme.Perhapsthey’reright!Buttohearsomeoftheseyoungfellowstalkyou’dthinknomanhadarighttobealiveaftersixty!Fromthewaytheygoon,you’dwondermoreofthemdidn’thelptheirelderlyrelationsoutoftheworld.”
“Itispossible,”saidHerculePoirot,“thattheydo.”
“Nicemindyou’vegot,Poirot,Imustsay.Allthispoliceworksapsyourideals.”
HerculePoirotsmiled.
“Toutdemême,”hesaid.“Itwouldbeinterestingtomakeatableofaccidentaldeathsovertheageofsixty.Iassureyouitwouldraisesomecuriousspeculationsinyourmind.”
“Thetroublewithyouisthatyou’vestartedgoingtolookforcrime—insteadofwaitingforcrimetocometoyou.”
“Iapologize,”saidPoirot.“Italkwhatyoucall‘theshop.’Tellme,myfriend,ofyourownaffairs.Howdoestheworldgowithyou?”
“Mess!”saidMr.Bonnington.“That’swhat’sthematterwiththeworldnowadays.Toomuchmess.Andtoomuchfinelanguage.Thefinelanguagehelpstoconcealthemess.Likeahighly-flavouredsauceconcealingthefactthatthefishunderneathitisnoneofthebest!Givemeanhonestfilletofsoleandnomessysauceoverit.”
ItwasgivenhimatthatmomentbyMollyandhegruntedapproval.
“YouknowjustwhatIlike,mygirl,”hesaid.
“Well,youcomehereprettyregular,don’tyou,sir?Ioughttoknowwhatyoulike.”
HerculePoirotsaid:
“Dopeoplethenalwayslikethesamethings?Donottheylikeachangesometimes?”
“Notgentlemen,sir.Ladieslikevariety—gentlemenalwayslikethesamething.”
“WhatdidItellyou?”gruntedBonnington.“Womenarefundamentallyunsoundwherefoodisconcerned!”
Helookedroundtherestaurant.
“Theworld’safunnyplace.Seethatodd-lookingoldfellowwithabeardinthecorner?Molly’lltellyouhe’salwayshereTuesdaysandThursdaynights.Hehascomehereforcloseontenyearsnow—he’sakindoflandmarkintheplace.Yetnobodyhereknowshisnameorwherehelivesorwhathisbusinessis.It’soddwhenyoucometothinkofit.”
Whenthewaitressbroughttheportionsofturkeyhesaid:
“Iseeyou’vestillgotOldFatherTimeoverthere?”
“That’sright,sir.TuesdaysandThursdays,hisdaysare.NotbutwhathecameinhereonaMondaylastweek!Itquiteupsetme!IfeltI’dgotmydateswrongandthatitmustbeTuesdaywithoutmyknowingit!Buthecameinthenextnightaswell—sotheMondaywasjustakindofextra,sotospeak.”
“Aninterestingdeviationfromhabit,”murmuredPoirot.“Iwonderwhatthereasonwas?”
“Well,sir,ifyouaskme,Ithinkhe’dhadsomekindofupsetorworry.”
“Whydidyouthinkthat?Hismanner?”
“No,sir—nothismannerexactly.Hewasveryquietashealwaysis.Neversaysmuchexceptgoodeveningwhenhecomesandgoes.No,itwashisorder.”
“Hisorder?”
“Idaresayyougentlemenwilllaughatme,”Mollyflushedup,“butwhenagentlemanhasbeenherefortenyears,yougettoknowhislikesanddislikes.HenevercouldbearsuetpuddingorblackberriesandI’veneverknownhimtakethicksoup—butonthatMondaynightheorderedthicktomatosoup,beefsteakandkidneypuddingandblackberrytart!Seemedasthoughhejustdidn’tnoticewhatheordered!”
“Doyouknow,”saidHerculePoirot,“Ifindthatextraordinarilyinteresting.”
Mollylookedgratifiedanddeparted.
“Well,Poirot,”saidHenryBonningtonwithachuckle.“Let’shaveafewdeductionsfromyou.Allinyourbestmanner.”
“Iwouldprefertohearyoursfirst.”
“WantmetobeWatson,eh?Well,oldfellowwenttoadoctorandthedoctorchangedhisdiet.”
“Tothicktomatosoup,steakandkidneypuddingandblackberrytart?Icannotimagineanydoctordoingthat.”
“Don’tbelieveit,oldboy.Doctorswillputyouontoanything.”
“Thatistheonlysolutionthatoccurstoyou?”
HenryBonningtonsaid:
“Well,seriously,Isupposethere’sonlyoneexplanationpossible.Ourunknownfriendwasinthegripofsomepowerfulmentalemotion.Hewassoperturbedbyitthatheliterallydidnotnoticewhathewasorderingoreating.”
Hepausedaminuteandthensaid:
“You’llbetellingmenextthatyouknowjustwhatwasonhismind.You’llsayperhapsthathewasmakinguphismindtocommitamurder.”
Helaughedathisownsuggestion.
HerculePoirotdidnotlaugh.
Hehasadmittedthatatthatmomenthewasseriouslyworried.Heclaimsthatheoughtthentohavehadsomeinklingofwhatwaslikelytooccur.
Hisfriendsassurehimthatsuchanideaisquitefantastic.
ItwassomethreeweekslaterthatHerculePoirotandBonningtonmetagain—thistimetheirmeetingwasintheTube.
Theynoddedtoeachother,swayingabout,hangingontoadjacentstraps.ThenatPiccadillyCircustherewasageneralexodusandtheyfoundseatsrightattheforwardendofthecar—apeacefulspotsincenobodypassedinoroutthatway.
“That’sbetter,”saidMr.Bonnington.“Selfishlot,thehumanrace,theywon’tpassupthecarhowevermuchyouask’emto!”
HerculePoirotshruggedhisshoulders.
“Whatwillyou?”hesaid.“Lifeistoouncertain.”
“That’sit.Heretoday,gonetomorrow,”saidMr.Bonningtonwithakindofgloomyrelish.“Andtalkingofthat,d’yourememberthatoldboywenoticedattheGallantEndeavour?Ishouldn’twonderifhe’dhoppedittoabetterworld.He’snotbeenthereforawholeweek.Molly’squiteupsetaboutit.”
HerculePoirotsatup.Hisgreeneyesflashed.
“Indeed?”hesaid.“Indeed?”
Bonningtonsaid:
“D’yourememberIsuggestedhe’dbeentoadoctorandbeenputonadiet?Diet’snonsenseofcourse—butIshouldn’twonderifhehadconsultedadoctorabouthishealthandwhatthedoctorsaidgavehimabitofajolt.Thatwouldaccountforhimorderingthingsoffthemenuwithoutnoticingwhathewasdoing.Quitelikelythejolthegothurriedhimoutoftheworldsoonerthanhewouldhavegoneotherwise.Doctorsoughttobecarefulwhattheytellachap.”
“Theyusuallyare,”saidHerculePoirot.
“Thisismystation,”saidMr.Bonnington.“Bye,bye.Don’tsupposeweshalleverknownowwhotheoldboywas—notevenhisname.Funnyworld!”
Hehurriedoutofthecarriage.
HerculePoirot,sittingfrowning,lookedasthoughhedidnotthinkitwassuchafunnyworld.
Hewenthomeandgavecertaininstructionstohisfaithfulvalet,George.
HerculePoirotranhisfingerdownalistofnames.Itwasarecordofdeathswithinacertainarea.
Poirot’sfingerstopped.
“HenryGascoigne.Sixty-nine.Imighttryhimfirst.”
Laterintheday,HerculePoirotwassittinginDr.MacAndrew’ssurgeryjustofftheKing’sRoad.MacAndrewwasatallred-hairedScotsmanwithanintelligentface.
“Gascoigne?”hesaid.“Yes,that’sright.Eccentricoldbird.Livedaloneinoneofthosederelictoldhousesthatarebeingclearedawayinordertobuildablockofmodernflats.Ihadn’tattendedhimbefore,butI’dseenhimaboutandIknewwhohewas.Itwasthedairypeoplegotthewindupfirst.Themilkbottlesbegantopileupoutside.Intheendthepeoplenextdoorsentwordtothepoliceandtheybrokethedoorinandfoundhim.He’dpitcheddownthestairsandbrokenhisneck.Hadonanolddressinggownwitharaggedcord—mighteasilyhavetrippedhimselfupwithit.”
“Isee,”saidHerculePoirot.“Itwasquitesimple—anaccident.”
“That’sright.”
“Hadheanyrelations?”
“There’sanephew.Usedtocomealongandseehisuncleaboutonceamonth.Lorrimer,hisnameis,GeorgeLorrimer.He’samedicohimself.LivesatWimbledon.”
“Washeupsetattheoldman’sdeath?”
“Idon’tknowthatI’dsayhewasupset.Imean,hehadanaffectionfortheoldman,buthedidn’treallyknowhimverywell.”
“HowlonghadMr.Gascoignebeendeadwhenyousawhim?”
“Ah!”saidDr.MacAndrew.“Thisiswherewegetofficial.Notlessthanforty-eighthoursandnotmorethanseventy-twohours.Hewasfoundonthemorningofthesixth.Actually,wegotcloserthanthat.He’dgotaletterinthepocketofhisdressinggown—writtenonthethird—postedinWimbledonthatafternoon—wouldhavebeendeliveredsomewherearoundninetwentyp.m.Thatputsthetimeofdeathatafterninetwentyontheeveningofthethird.Thatagreeswiththecontentsofthestomachandtheprocessesofdigestion.Hehadhadamealabouttwohoursbeforedeath.Iexaminedhimonthemorningofthesixthandhisconditionwasquiteconsistentwithdeathhavingoccurredaboutsixtyhourspreviously—roundabouttenp.m.onthethird.”
“Itallseemsveryconsistent.Tellme,whenwashelastseenalive?”
“HewasseenintheKing’sRoadaboutseveno’clockthatsameevening,Thursdaythethird,andhedinedattheGallantEndeavourrestaurantatseventhirty.ItseemshealwaysdinedthereonThursdays.Hewasbywayofbeinganartist,youknow.Anextremelybadone.”
“Hehadnootherrelations?Onlythisnephew?”
“Therewasatwinbrother.Thewholestoryisrathercurious.Theyhadn’tseeneachotherforyears.Itseemstheotherbrother,AnthonyGascoigne,marriedaveryrichwomanandgaveupart—andthebrothersquarrelledoverit.Hadn’tseeneachothersince,Ibelieve.Butoddlyenough,theydiedonthesameday.Theeldertwinpassedawayatthreeo’clockontheafternoonofthethird.OncebeforeI’veknownacaseoftwinsdyingonthesameday—indifferentpartsoftheworld!Probablyjustacoincidence—butthereitis.”
“Istheotherbrother’swifealive?”
“No,shediedsomeyearsago.”
“WheredidAnthonyGascoignelive?”
“HehadahouseonKingstonHill.Hewas,Ibelieve,fromwhatDr.Lorrimertellsme,verymuchofarecluse.”
HerculePoirotnoddedthoughtfully.
TheScotsmanlookedathimkeenly.
“Whatexactlyhaveyougotinyourmind,M.Poirot?”heaskedbluntly.“I’veansweredyourquestions—aswasmydutyseeingthecredentialsyoubrought.ButI’minthedarkastowhatit’sallabout.”
Poirotsaidslowly:
“Asimplecaseofaccidentaldeath,that’swhatyousaid.WhatIhaveinmindisequallysimple—asimplepush.”
Dr.MacAndrewlookedstartled.
“Inotherwords,murder!Haveyouanygroundsforthatbelief?”
“No,”saidPoirot.“Itisameresupposition.”
“Theremustbesomething—”persistedtheother.
Poirotdidnotspeak.MacAndrewsaid:
“Ifit’sthenephew,Lorrimer,yoususpect,Idon’tmindtellingyouhereandnowthatyouarebarkingupthewrongtree.LorrimerwasplayingbridgeinWimbledonfromeightthirtytillmidnight.Thatcameoutattheinquest.”
Poirotmurmured:
“Andpresumablyitwasverified.Thepolicearecareful.”
Thedoctorsaid:
“Perhapsyouknowsomethingagainsthim?”
“Ididn’tknowthattherewassuchapersonuntilyoumentionedhim.”
“Thenyoususpectsomebodyelse?”
“No,no.Itisnotthatatall.It’sacaseoftheroutinehabitsofthehumananimal.Thatisveryimportant.AndthedeadM.Gascoignedoesnotfitin.Itisallwrong,yousee.”
“Ireallydon’tunderstand.”
HerculePoirotmurmured:
“Thetroubleis,thereistoomuchsauceoverthebadfish.”
“Mydearsir?”
HerculePoirotsmiled.
“Youwillbehavingmelockedupasalunaticsoon,MonsieurleDocteur.ButIamnotreallyamentalcase—justamanwhohasalikingfororderandmethodandwhoisworriedwhenhecomesacrossafactthatdoesnotfitin.Imustaskyoutoforgivemeforhavinggivenyousomuchtrouble.”
Heroseandthedoctorrosealso.
“Youknow,”saidMacAndrew,“honestlyIcan’tseeanythingtheleastbitsuspiciousaboutthedeathofHenryGascoigne.Isayhefell—yousaysomebodypushedhim.It’sall—well—intheair.”
HerculePoirotsighed.
“Yes,”hesaid.“Itisworkmanlike.Somebodyhasmadethegoodjobofit!”
“Youstillthink—”
Thelittlemanspreadouthishands.
“I’manobstinateman—amanwithalittleidea—andnothingtosupportit!Bytheway,didHenryGascoignehavefalseteeth?”
“No,hisownteethwereinexcellentpreservation.Verycreditableindeedathisage.”
“Helookedafterthemwell—theywerewhiteandwellbrushed?”
“Yes,Inoticedthemparticularly.Teethtendtogrowalittleyellowasonegrowsolder,buttheywereingoodcondition.”
“Notdiscolouredinanyway?”
“No.Idon’tthinkhewasasmokerifthatiswhatyoumean.”
“Ididnotmeanthatprecisely—itwasjustalongshot—whichprobablywillnotcomeoff!Good-bye,Dr.MacAndrew,andthankyouforyourkindness.”
Heshookthedoctor’shandanddeparted.
“Andnow,”hesaid,“forthelongshot.”AttheGallantEndeavour,hesatdownatthesametablewhichhehadsharedwithBonnington.ThegirlwhoservedhimwasnotMolly.Molly,thegirltoldhim,wasawayonaholiday.
ItwasonlyjustsevenandHerculePoirotfoundnodifficultyinenteringintoconversationwiththegirlonthesubjectofoldMr.Gascoigne.
“Yes,”shesaid.“He’dbeenhereforyearsandyears.Butnoneofusgirlseverknewhisname.Wesawabouttheinquestinthepaper,andtherewasapictureofhim.‘There,’IsaidtoMolly.‘Ifthatisn’tour‘OldFatherTime’asweusedtocallhim.”
“Hedinedhereontheeveningofhisdeath,didhenot?”
“That’sright,Thursday,thethird.HewasalwayshereonaThursday.TuesdaysandThursdays—punctualasaclock.”
“Youdon’tremember,Isuppose,whathehadfordinner?”
“Nowletmesee,itwasmulligatawnysoup,that’sright,andbeefsteakpuddingorwasitthemutton?—nopudding,that’sright,andblackberryandapplepieandcheese.Andthentothinkofhimgoinghomeandfallingdownthosestairsthatverysameevening.Afrayeddressinggowncordtheysaiditwasascausedit.Ofcourse,hisclotheswerealwayssomethingawful—old-fashionedandputonanyhow,andalltattered,andyethehadakindofair,allthesame,asthoughhewassomebody!Oh,wegetallsortsofinterestingcustomershere.”
Shemovedoff.
HerculePoirotatehisfilletedsole.Hiseyesshowedagreenlight.
“Itisodd,”hesaidtohimself,“howthecleverestpeopleslipoverdetails.Bonningtonwillbeinterested.”
ButthetimehadnotyetcomeforleisurelydiscussionwithBonnington.
Armedwithintroductionsfromacertaininfluentialquarter,HerculePoirotfoundnodifficultyatallindealingwiththecoronerforthedistrict.
“Acuriousfigure,thedeceasedmanGascoigne,”heobserved.“Alonely,eccentricoldfellow.Buthisdeceaseseemstoarouseanunusualamountofattention?”
Helookedwithsomecuriosityathisvisitorashespoke.
HerculePoirotchosehiswordscarefully.
“Therearecircumstancesconnectedwithit,Monsieur,whichmakeinvestigationdesirable.”
“Well,howcanIhelpyou?”
“Itis,Ibelieve,withinyourprovincetoorderdocumentsproducedinyourcourttobedestroyed,ortobeimpounded—asyouthinkfit.AcertainletterwasfoundinthepocketofHenryGascoigne’sdressinggown,wasitnot?”
“Thatisso.”
“Aletterfromhisnephew,Dr.GeorgeLorrimer?”
“Quitecorrect.Theletterwasproducedattheinquestashelpingtofixthetimeofdeath.”
“Whichwascorroboratedbythemedicalevidence?”
“Exactly.”
“Isthatletterstillavailable?”
HerculePoirotwaitedratheranxiouslyforthereply.
Whenheheardthattheletterwasstillavailableforexaminationhedrewasighofrelief.
Whenitwasfinallyproducedhestudieditwithsomecare.Itwaswritteninaslightlycrampedhandwritingwithastylographicpen.
Itranasfollows:
DearUncleHenry,IamsorrytotellyouthatIhavehadnosuccessasregardsUncleAnthony.Heshowednoenthusiasmforavisitfromyouandwouldgivemenoreplytoyourrequestthathewouldletbygonesbebygones.Heis,ofcourse,extremelyill,andhismindisinclinedtowander.Ishouldfancythattheendisverynear.Heseemedhardlytorememberwhoyouwere.Iamsorrytohavefailedyou,butIcanassureyouthatIdidmybest.Youraffectionatenephew,GEORGELORRIMER
Theletteritselfwasdated3rdNovember.Poirotglancedattheenvelope’spostmark—4:30p.m.3Nov.
Hemurmured:
“Itisbeautifullyinorder,isitnot?”
KingstonHillwashisnextobjective.Afteralittletrouble,withtheexerciseofgood-humouredpertinacity,heobtainedaninterviewwithAmeliaHill,cook-housekeepertothelateAnthonyGascoigne.
Mrs.Hillwasinclinedtobestiffandsuspiciousatfirst,butthecharminggenialityofthisstrange-lookingforeignerwouldhavehaditseffectonastone.Mrs.AmeliaHillbegantounbend.
Shefoundherself,ashadsomanyotherwomenbeforeher,pouringouthertroublestoareallysympatheticlistener.
ForfourteenyearsshehadhadchargeofMr.Gascoigne’shousehold—notaneasyjob!No,indeed!Manyawomanwouldhavequailedundertheburdensshehadhadtobear!Eccentricthepoorgentlemanwasandnodenyingit.Remarkablyclosewithhismoney—akindofmaniawithhimitwas—andheasrichagentlemanasmightbe!ButMrs.Hillhadservedhimfaithfully,andputupwithhisways,andnaturallyshe’dexpectedatanyratearemembrance.Butno—nothingatall!Justanoldwillthatleftallhismoneytohiswifeandifshepredeceasedhimtheneverythingtohisbrother,Henry.Awillmadeyearsago.Itdidn’tseemfair!
GraduallyHerculePoirotdetachedherfromhermainthemeofunsatisfiedcupidity.Itwasindeedaheartlessinjustice!Mrs.Hillcouldnotbeblamedforfeelinghurtandsurprised.ItwaswellknownthatMr.Gascoignewastightfistedaboutmoney.Ithadevenbeensaidthatthedeadmanhadrefusedhisonlybrotherassistance.Mrs.Hillprobablyknewallaboutthat.
“WasitthatthatDr.Lorrimercametoseehimabout?”askedMrs.Hill.“Iknewitwassomethingabouthisbrother,butIthoughtitwasjustthathisbrotherwantedtobereconciled.They’dquarrelledyearsago.”
“Iunderstand,”saidPoirot,“thatMr.Gascoignerefusedabsolutely?”
“That’srightenough,”saidMrs.Hillwithanod.“‘Henry?’hesays,ratherweaklike.‘What’sthisaboutHenry?Haven’tseenhimforyearsanddon’twantto.Quarrelsomefellow,Henry.’Justthat.”
TheconversationthenrevertedtoMrs.Hill’sownspecialgrievances,andtheunfeelingattitudeofthelateMr.Gascoigne’ssolicitor.
WithsomedifficultyHerculePoirottookhisleavewithoutbreakingofftheconversationtooabruptly.
Andso,justafterthedinnerhour,hecametoElmcrest,DorsetRoad,Wimbledon,theresidenceofDr.GeorgeLorrimer
Thedoctorwasin.HerculePoirotwasshownintothesurgeryandtherepresentlyDr.GeorgeLorrimercametohim,obviouslyjustrisenfromthedinnertable
“I’mnotapatient,Doctor,”saidHerculePoirot.“Andmycominghereis,perhaps,somewhatofanimpertinence—butI’manoldmanandIbelieveinplainanddirectdealing.Idonotcareforlawyersandtheirlong-windedroundaboutmethods.”
HehadcertainlyarousedLorrimer’sinterest.Thedoctorwasaclean-shavenmanofmiddleheight.Hishairwasbrownbuthiseyelasheswerealmostwhitewhichgavehiseyesapale,boiledappearance.Hismannerwasbriskandnotwithouthumour.
“Lawyers?”hesaid,raisinghiseyebrows.“Hatethefellows!Yourousemycuriosity,mydearsir.Praysitdown.”
Poirotdidsoandthenproducedoneofhisprofessionalcardswhichhehandedtothedoctor.
GeorgeLorrimer’swhiteeyelashesblinked.
Poirotleanedforwardconfidentially.“Agoodmanyofmyclientsarewomen,”hesaid.
“Naturally,”saidDr.GeorgeLorrimer,withaslighttwinkle.
“Asyousay,naturally,”agreedPoirot.“Womendistrusttheofficialpolice.Theypreferprivateinvestigations.Theydonotwanttohavetheirtroublesmadepublic.Anelderlywomancametoconsultmeafewdaysago.Shewasunhappyaboutahusbandshe’dquarrelledwithmanyyearsbefore.Thishusbandofherswasyouruncle,thelateMr.Gascoigne.”GeorgeLorrimer’sfacewentpurple.
“Myuncle?Nonsense!Hiswifediedmanyyearsago.”
“Notyouruncle,Mr.AnthonyGascoigne.Youruncle,Mr.HenryGascoigne.”
“UncleHenry?Buthewasn’tmarried!”
“Ohyes,hewas,”saidHerculePoirot,lyingunblushingly.“Notadoubtofit.Theladyevenbroughtalonghermarriagecertificate.”
“It’salie!”criedGeorgeLorrimer.Hisfacewasnowaspurpleasaplum.“Idon’tbelieveit.You’reanimpudentliar.”
“Itistoobad,isitnot?”saidPoirot.“Youhavecommittedmurderfornothing.”
“Murder?”Lorrimer’svoicequavered.Hispaleeyesbulgedwithterror.
“Bytheway,”saidPoirot,“Iseeyouhavebeeneatingblackberrytartagain.Anunwisehabit.Blackberriesaresaidtobefullofvitamins,buttheymaybedeadlyinotherways.OnthisoccasionIratherfancytheyhavehelpedtoputaroperoundaman’sneck—yourneck,Dr.Lorrimer.”
“Yousee,monami,whereyouwentwrongwasoveryourfundamentalassumption.”HerculePoirot,beamingplacidlyacrossthetableathisfriend,wavedanexpositoryhand.“Amanunderseverementalstressdoesn’tchoosethattimetodosomethingthathe’sneverdonebefore.Hisreflexesjustfollowthetrackofleastresistance.Amanwhoisupsetaboutsomethingmightconceivablycomedowntodinnerdressedinhispyjamas—buttheywillbehisownpyjamas—notsomebodyelse’s.
“Amanwhodislikesthicksoup,suetpuddingandblackberriessuddenlyordersallthreeoneevening.Yousay,becauseheisthinkingofsomethingelse.ButIsaythatamanwhohasgotsomethingonhismindwillorderautomaticallythedishhehasorderedmostoftenbefore.
“Ehbien,then,whatotherexplanationcouldtherebe?Isimplycouldnotthinkofareasonableexplanation.AndIwasworried!Theincidentwasallwrong.Itdidnotfit!IhaveanorderlymindandIlikethingstofit.Mr.Gascoigne’sdinnerorderworriedme.
“Thenyoutoldmethatthemanhaddisappeared.HehadmissedaTuesdayandaThursdaythefirsttimeforyears.Ilikedthatevenless.Aqueerhypothesissprangupinmymind.IfIwererightaboutitthemanwasdead.Imadeinquiries.Themanwasdead.Andhewasveryneatlyandtidilydead.Inotherwordsthebadfishwascoveredupwiththesauce!
“HehadbeenseenintheKing’sRoadatseveno’clock.Hehadhaddinnerhereatseventhirty—twohoursbeforehedied.Itallfittedin—theevidenceofthestomachcontents,theevidenceoftheletter.Muchtoomuchsauce!Youcouldn’tseethefishatall!
“Devotednephewwrotetheletter,devotednephewhadbeautifulalibifortimeofdeath.Deathverysimple—afalldownthestairs.Simpleaccident?Simplemurder?Everyonesaystheformer.
“Devotednephewonlysurvivingrelative.Devotednephewwillinherit—butisthereanythingtoinherit?Unclenotoriouslypoor.
“Butthereisabrother.Andbrotherinhistimehadmarriedarichwife.AndbrotherlivesinabigrichhouseonKingstonHill,soitwouldseemthatrichwifemusthavelefthimallhermoney.Youseethesequence—richwifeleavesmoneytoAnthony,AnthonyleavesmoneytoHenry,Henry’smoneygoestoGeorge—acompletechain.”
“Allveryprettyintheory,”saidBonnington.“Butwhatdidyoudo?”
“Onceyouknow—youcanusuallygetholdofwhatyouwant.Henryhaddiedtwohoursafterameal—thatisalltheinquestreallybotheredabout.Butsupposingthemealwasnotdinner,butlunch.PutyourselfinGeorge’splace.Georgewantsmoney—badly.AnthonyGascoigneisdying—buthisdeathisnogoodtoGeorge.HismoneygoestoHenry,andHenryGascoignemayliveforyears.SoHenrymustdietoo—andthesoonerthebetter—buthisdeathmusttakeplaceafterAnthony’s,andatthesametimeGeorgemusthaveanalibi.Henry’shabitofdiningregularlyatarestaurantontwoeveningsoftheweeksuggestanalibitoGeorge.Beingacautiousfellow,hetrieshisplanoutfirst.HeimpersonateshisuncleonMondayeveningattherestaurantinquestion.Itgoeswithoutahitch.Everyonethereacceptshimashisuncle.Heissatisfied.HehasonlytowaittillUncleAnthonyshowsdefinitesignsofpeggingout.Thetimecomes.HewritesalettertohisuncleontheafternoonofthesecondNovemberbutdatesitthethird.Hecomesuptotownontheafternoonofthethird,callsonhisuncle,andcarrieshisschemeintoaction.AsharpshoveanddownthestairsgoesUncleHenry.Georgehuntsaboutfortheletterhehaswritten,andshovesitinthepocketofhisuncle’sdressinggown.AtseventhirtyheisattheGallantEndeavour,beard,bushyeyebrowsallcomplete.UndoubtedlyMr.HenryGascoigneisaliveatseventhirty.ThenarapidmetamorphosisinalavatoryandbackfullspeedinhiscartoWimbledonandaneveningofbridge.Theperfectalibi.”
Mr.Bonningtonlookedathim.
“Butthepostmarkontheletter?”
“Oh,thatwasverysimple.Thepostmarkwassmudgy.Why?IthadbeenalteredwithlampblackfromsecondNovembertothirdNovember.Youwouldnotnoticeitunlessyouwerelookingforit.Andfinallythereweretheblackbirds.”
“Blackbirds?”
“Fourandtwentyblackbirdsbakedinapie!Orblackberriesifyouprefertobeliteral!George,youcomprehend,wasafterallnotquiteagoodenoughactor.DoyourememberthefellowwhoblackedhimselfallovertoplayOthello?Thatisthekindofactoryouhavegottobeincrime.Georgelookedlikehisuncleandwalkedlikehisuncleandspokelikehisuncleandhadhisuncle’sbeardandeyebrows,butheforgottoeatlikehisuncle.Heorderedthedishesthathehimselfliked.Blackberriesdiscolourtheteeth—thecorpse’steethwerenotdiscoloured,andyetHenryGascoigneareblackberriesattheGallantEndeavourthatnight.Buttherewerenoblackberriesinthestomach.Iaskedthismorning.AndGeorgehadbeenfoolenoughtokeepthebeardandtherestofthemakeup.Oh!plentyofevidenceonceyoulookforit.IcalledonGeorgeandrattledhim.Thatfinishedit!Hehadbeeneatingblackberriesagain,bytheway.Agreedyfellow—caredalotabouthisfood.Ehbien,greedwillhanghimallrightunlessIamverymuchmistaken.”
Awaitressbroughtthemtwoportionsofblackberryandappletart.
“Takeitaway,”saidMr.Bonnington.“Onecan’tbetoocareful.Bringmeasmallhelpingofsagopudding.”
Nine
THELOVEDETECTIVES
“TheLoveDetectives”wasfirstpublishedintheUSAas“AttheCrossroads”inFlynn’sWeekly,30Oct1926,andthenas“TheMagicofMr.QuinNo.1:AttheCrossRoads”inStoryteller,December1926.
LittleMr.Satterthwaitelookedthoughtfullyacrossathishost.Thefriendshipbetweenthesetwomenwasanoddone.Thecolonelwasasimplecountrygentlemanwhosepassioninlifewassport.ThefewweeksthathespentperforceinLondon,hespentunwillingly.Mr.Satterthwaite,ontheotherhand,wasatownbird.HewasanauthorityonFrenchcooking,onladies’dress,andonallthelatestscandals.Hispassionwasobservinghumannature,andhewasanexpertinhisownspecialline—thatofanonlookeratlife.
Itwouldseem,therefore,thatheandColonelMelrosewouldhavelittleincommon,forthecolonelhadnointerestinhisneighbours’affairsandahorrorofanykindofemotion.Thetwomenwerefriendsmainlybecausetheirfathersbeforethemhadbeenfriends.Alsotheyknewthesamepeopleandhadreactionaryviewsaboutnouveauxriches.
Itwasabouthalfpastseven.Thetwomenweresittinginthecolonel’scomfortablestudy,andMelrosewasdescribingarunofthepreviouswinterwithakeenhuntingman’senthusiasm.Mr.Satterthwaite,whoseknowledgeofhorsesconsistedchieflyofthetime-honouredSundaymorningvisittothestableswhichstillobtainsinold-fashionedcountry
ThesharpringingofthetelephoneinterruptedMelrose.Hecrossedtothetableandtookupthereceiver.
“Hello,yes—ColonelMelrosespeaking.What’sthat?”Hiswholedemeanouraltered—becamestiffandofficial.Itwasthemagistratespeakingnow,notthesportsman.
Helistenedforsomemoments,thensaidlaconically,“Right,Curtis.I’llbeoveratonce.”Hereplacedthereceiverandturnedtohisguest.“SirJamesDwightonhasbeenfoundinhislibrary—murdered.”
“What?”
Mr.Satterthwaitewasstartled—thrilled.
“ImustgoovertoAlderwayatonce.Caretocomewithme?”
Mr.Satterthwaiterememberedthatthecolonelwaschiefconstableofthecountry.
“IfIshan’tbeintheway—”Hehesitated.
“Notatall.ThatwasInspectorCurtistelephoning.Good,honestfellow,butnobrains.I’dbegladifyouwouldcomewithme,Satterthwaite.I’vegotanideathisisgoingtoturnoutanastybusiness.”
“Havetheygotthefellowwhodidit?”
“No,”repliedMelroseshortly.
Mr.Satterthwaite’strainedeardetectedanuanceofreservebehindthecurtnegative.HebegantogooverinhismindallthatheknewoftheDwightons.
Apompousoldfellow,thelateSirJames,brusqueinhismanner.Amanthatmighteasilymakeenemies.Veeringonsixty,withgrizzledhairandafloridface.Reputedtobetightfistedintheextreme.
HismindwentontoLadyDwighton.Herimagefloatedbeforehim,young,auburn-haired,slender.Herememberedvariousrumours,hints,oddbitsofgossip.Sothatwasit—thatwaswhyMelroselookedsoglum.Thenhepulledhimselfup—hisimaginationwasrunningawaywithhim.
FiveminuteslaterMr.Satterthwaitetookhisplacebesidehishostinthelatter’slittletwo-seater,andtheydroveofftogetherintothenight.
Thecolonelwasataciturnman.Theyhadgonequiteamileandahalfbeforehespoke.Thenhejerkedoutabruptly.“Youknow’em,Isuppose?”
“TheDwightons?Iknowallaboutthem,ofcourse.”WhowasthereMr.Satterthwaitedidn’tknowallabout?“I’vemethimonce,Ithink,andherratheroftener.”
“Prettywoman,”saidMelrose.
“Beautiful!”declaredMr.Satterthwaite.
“Thinkso?”
“ApureRenaissancetype,”declaredMr.Satterthwaite,warminguptohistheme.“Sheactedinthosetheatricals—thecharitymatinee,youknow,lastspring.Iwasverymuchstruck.Nothingmodernabouther—apuresurvival.Onecanimagineherinthedoge’spalace,orasLucreziaBorgia.”
Thecolonelletthecarswerveslightly,andMr.Satterthwaitecametoanabruptstop.HewonderedwhatfatalityhadbroughtthenameofLucreziaBorgiatohistongue.Underthecircumstances—
“Dwightonwasnotpoisoned,washe?”heaskedabruptly.
Melroselookedathimsideways,somewhatcuriously.“Whydoyouaskthat,Iwonder?”hesaid.
“Oh,I—Idon’tknow.”Mr.Satterthwaitewasflustered.“I—Itjustoccurredtome.”
“Well,hewasn’t,”saidMelrosegloomily.“Ifyouwanttoknow,hewascrashedonthehead.”
“Withabluntinstrument,”murmuredMr.Satterthwaite,noddinghisheadsagely.
“Don’ttalklikeadamneddetectivestory,Satterthwaite.Hewashitontheheadwithabronzefigure.”
“Oh,”saidSatterthwaite,andrelapsedintosilence.
“KnowanythingofachapcalledPaulDelangua?”askedMelroseafteraminuteortwo.
“Yes.Good-lookingyoungfellow.”
“Idaresaywomenwouldcallhimso,”growledthecolonel.
“Youdon’tlikehim?”
“No,Idon’t.”
“Ishouldhavethoughtyouwouldhave.Heridesverywell.”
“Likeaforeigneratthehorseshow.Fullofmonkeytricks.”
Mr.Satterthwaitesuppressedasmile.PooroldMelrosewassoveryBritishinhisoutlook.Agreeablyconscioushimselfofacosmopolitanpointofview,Mr.Satterthwaitewasabletodeploretheinsularattitudetowardlife.
“Hashebeendowninthispartoftheworld?”heasked.
“He’sbeenstayingatAlderwaywiththeDwightons.TherumourgoesthatSirJameskickedhimoutaweekago.”
“Why?”
“Foundhimmakinglovetohiswife,Isuppose.Whatthehell—”
Therewasaviolentswerve,andajarringimpact.
“MostdangerouscrossroadsinEngland,”saidMelrose.“Allthesame,theotherfellowshouldhavesoundedhishorn.We’reonthemainroad.Ifancywe’vedamagedhimrathermorethanhehasdamagedus.”
Hesprangout.Afigurealightedfromtheothercarandjoinedhim.FragmentsofspeechreachedSatterthwaite.
“Entirelymyfault,I’mafraid,”thestrangerwassaying.“ButIdonotknowthispartofthecountryverywell,andthere’sabsolutelynosignofanykindtoshowyou’recomingontothemainroad.”
Thecolonel,mollified,rejoinedsuitably.Thetwomenbenttogetheroverthestranger’scar,whichachauffeurwasalreadyexamining.Theconversationbecamehighlytechnical.
“Amatterofhalfanhour,I’mafraid,”saidthestranger.“Butdon’tletmedetainyou.I’mgladyourcarescapedinjuryaswellasitdid.”
“Asamatteroffact—”thecolonelwasbeginning,buthewasinterrupted.
Mr.Satterthwaite,seethingwithexcitement,hoppedoutofthecarwithabirdlikeaction,andseizedthestrangerwarmlybythehand.
“Itis!IthoughtIrecognizedthevoice,”hedeclaredexcitedly.“Whatanextraordinarything.Whataveryextraordinarything.”
“Eh?”saidColonelMelrose.
“Mr.HarleyQuin.Melrose,I’msureyou’veheardmespeakmanytimesofMr.Quin?”
ColonelMelrosedidnotseemtorememberthefact,butheassistedpolitelyatthescenewhileMr.Satterthwaitewaschirrupinggailyon.“Ihaven’tseenyou—letmesee—”
“SincethenightattheBellsandMotley,”saidtheotherquietly.
“TheBellsandMotley,eh?”saidthecolonel.
“Aninn,”explainedMr.Satterthwaite
“Whatanoddnameforaninn.”
“Onlyanoldone,”saidMr.Quin.“Therewasatime,remember,whenbellsandmotleyweremorecommoninEnglandthantheyarenowadays.”
“Isupposeso,yes,nodoubtyouareright,”saidMelrosevaguely.Heblinked.Byacuriouseffectoflight—theheadlightsofonecarandtheredtaillightoftheother—Mr.Quinseemedforamomenttobedressedinmotleyhimself.Butitwasonlythelight.
“Wecan’tleaveyouherestrandedontheroad,”continuedMr.Satterthwaite.“Youmustcomealongwithus.There’splentyofroomforthree,isn’tthere,Melrose?”
“Ohrather.”Butthecolonel’svoicewasalittledoubtful.“Theonlythingis,”heremarked,“thejobwe’reon.Eh,Satterthwaite?”
Mr.Satterthwaitestoodstock-still.Ideasleapedandflashedoverhim.Hepositivelyshookwithexcitement.
“No,”hecried.“No,Ishouldhaveknownbetter!Thereisnochancewhereyouareconcerned,Mr.Quin.Itwasnotanaccidentthatweallmettonightatthecrossroads.”
ColonelMelrosestaredathisfriendinastonishment.Mr.Satterthwaitetookhimbythearm.
“YourememberwhatItoldyou—aboutourfriendDerekCapel?Themotiveforhissuicide,whichnoonecouldguess?ItwasMr.Quinwhosolvedthatproblem—andtherehavebeenotherssince.Heshowsyouthingsthatarethereallthetime,butwhichyouhaven’tseen.He’smarvellous.”
“MydearSatterthwaite,youaremakingmeblush,”saidMr.Quin,smiling.“AsfarasIcanremember,thesediscoverieswereallmadebyyou,notbyme.”
“Theyweremadebecauseyouwerethere,”saidMr.Satterthwaitewithintenseconviction.
“Well,”saidColonelMelrose,clearinghisthroatuncomfortably.“Wemustn’twasteanymoretime.Let’sgeton.”
Heclimbedintothedriver’sseat.HewasnottoowellpleasedathavingthestrangerfoisteduponhimthroughMr.Satterthwaite’senthusiasm,buthehadnovalidobjectiontooffer,andhewasanxioustogetontoAlderwayasfastaspossible.
Mr.SatterthwaiteurgedMr.Quininnext,andhimselftooktheoutsideseat.Thecarwasaroomyoneandtookthreewithoutunduesqueezing.
“Soyouareinterestedincrime,Mr.Quin?”saidthecolonel,doinghisbesttobegenial.
“No,notexactlyincrime.”
“What,then?”
Mr.Quinsmiled.“LetusaskMr.Satterthwaite.Heisaveryshrewdobserver.”
“Ithink,”saidSatterthwaiteslowly,“Imaybewrong,butIthink—thatMr.Quinisinterestedin—lovers.”
Heblushedashesaidthelastword,whichisonenoEnglishmancanpronouncewithoutself-consciousness.Mr.Satterthwaitebroughtitoutapologetically,andwithaneffectofinvertedcommas.
“Bygad!”saidthecolonel,startledandsilenced.
HereflectedinwardlythatthisseemedtobeaveryrumfriendofSatterthwaite’s.Heglancedathimsideways.Thefellowlookedallright—quiteanormalyoungchap.Ratherdark,butnotatallforeign-looking.
“Andnow,”saidSatterthwaiteimportantly,“Imusttellyouallaboutthecase.”
Hetalkedforsometenminutes.Sittingthereinthedarkness,rushingthroughthenight,hehadanintoxicatingfeelingofpower.Whatdiditmatterifhewereonlyalooker-onatlife?Hehadwordsathiscommand,hewasmasterofthem,hecouldstringthemtoapattern—astrangeRenaissancepatterncomposedofthebeautyofLauraDwighton,with
SetthatagainstthebackgroundofAlderway—AlderwaythathadstoodsincethedaysofHenryVIIand,somesaid,beforethat.AlderwaythatwasEnglishtothecore,withitsclippedyewanditsoldbeakbarnandthefishpond,wheremonkshadkepttheircarpforFridays.
InafewdeftstrokeshehadetchedinSirJames,aDwightonwhowasatruedescendantoftheoldDeWittons,wholongagohadwrungmoneyoutofthelandandlockeditfastincoffers,sothatwhoeverelsehadfallenonevildays,themastersofAlderwayhadneverbecomeimpoverished.
AtlastMr.Satterthwaiteceased.Hewassure,hadbeensureallalong,ofthesympathyofhisaudience.Hewaitednowthewordofpraisewhichwashisdue.Itcame.
“Youareanartist,Mr.Satterthwaite.”
“I—Idomybest.”Thelittlemanwassuddenlyhumble.
Theyhadturnedinatthelodgegatessomeminutesago.Nowthecardrewupinfrontofthedoorway,andapoliceconstablecamehurriedlydownthestepstomeetthem.
“Goodevening,sir.InspectorCurtisisinthelibrary.”
“Right.”
Melroseranupthestepsfollowedbytheothertwo.Asthethreeofthempassedacrossthewidehall,anelderlybutlerpeeredfromadoorwayapprehensively.Melrosenoddedtohim.
“Evening,Miles.Thisisasadbusiness.”
“Itisindeed,”theotherquavered.“Icanhardlybelieveit,sir;indeedIcan’t.Tothinkthatanyoneshouldstrikedownthemaster.”
“Yes,yes,”saidMelrose,cuttinghimshort.“I’llhaveatalkwithyoupresently.”
Hestrodeontothelibrary.Thereabig,soldierly-lookinginspectorgreetedhimwithrespect.
“Nastybusiness,sir.Ihavenotdisturbedthings.Nofingerprintsontheweapon.Whoeverdiditknewhisbusiness.”
Mr.Satterthwaitelookedatthebowedfiguresittingatthebigwritingtable,andlookedhurriedlyawayagain.Themanhadbeenstruckdownfrombehind,asmashingblowthathadcrashedintheskull.Thesightwasnotaprettyone.
Theweaponlayonthefloor—abronzefigureabouttwofeethigh,thebaseofitstainedandwet.Mr.Satterthwaitebentoveritcuriously.
“AVenus,”hesaidsoftly.“SohewasstruckdownbyVenus.”
Hefoundfoodforpoeticmeditationinthethought.
“Thewindows,”saidtheinspector,“wereallclosedandboltedontheinside.”
Hepausedsignificantly.
“Makinganinsidejobofit,”saidthechiefconstablereluctantly.“Well—well,we’llsee.”
Themurderedmanwasdressedingolfclothes,andabagofgolfclubshadbeenflunguntidilyacrossabigleathercouch.
“Justcomeinfromthelinks,”explainedtheinspector,followingthechiefconstable’sglance.“Atfivefifteen,thatwas.Hadteabroughtherebythebutler.Laterherangforhisvalettobringhimdownapairofsoftslippers.Asfaraswecantell,thevaletwasthelastpersontoseehimalive.”
Melrosenodded,andturnedhisattentiononcemoretothewritingtable.
Agoodmanyoftheornamentshadbeenoverturnedandbroken.Prominentamongthesewasabigdarkenamelclock,whichlayonitssideintheverycentreofthetable.
Theinspectorclearedhisthroat.
“That’swhatyoumightcallapieceofluck,sir,”hesaid.“Asyousee,it’sstopped.Athalfpastsix.Thatgivesusthetimeofthecrime.Veryconvenient.”
Thecolonelwasstaringattheclock.
“Asyousay,”heremarked.“Veryconvenient.”Hepausedaminute,andthenadded,“Toodamnedconvenient!Idon’tlikeit,Inspector.”
Helookedaroundattheothertwo.HiseyesoughtMr.Quin’swithalookofappealinit.
“Damnitall,”hesaid.“It’stooneat.YouknowwhatImean.Thingsdon’thappenlikethat.”
“Youmean,”murmuredMr.Quin,“thatclocksdon’tfalllikethat?”
Melrosestaredathimforamoment,thenbackattheclock,whichhadthatpatheticandinnocentlookfamiliartoobjectswhichhavebeensuddenlybereftoftheirdignity.VerycarefullyColonelMelrosereplaceditonitslegsagain.Hestruckthetableaviolentblow.Theclockrocked,butitdidnotfall.Melroserepeatedtheaction,andveryslowly,withakindofunwillingness,theclockfelloveronitsback.
“Whattimewasthecrimediscovered?”demandedMelrosesharply.
“Justaboutseveno’clock,sir.”
“Whodiscoveredit?”
“Thebutler.”
“Fetchhimin,”saidthechiefconstable.“I’llseehimnow.WhereisLadyDwighton,bytheway?”
“Lyingdown,sir.Hermaidsaysthatshe’sprostratedandcan’tseeanyone.”
Melrosenodded,andInspectorCurtiswentinsearchofthebutler.Mr.Quinwaslookingthoughtfullyintothefireplace.Mr.Satterthwaitefollowedhisexample.Heblinkedatthesmoulderinglogsforaminuteortwo,andthensomethingbrightlyinginthegratecaughthiseye.Hestoopedandpickedupalittlesliverofcurvedglass.
“Youwantedme,sir?”
Itwasthebutler’svoice,stillquaveringanduncertain.Mr.Satterthwaiteslippedthefragmentofglassintohiswaistcoatpocketandturnedaround.
Theoldmanwasstandinginthedoorway
“Sitdown,”saidthechiefconstablekindly.“You’reshakingallover.It’sbeenashocktoyou,Iexpect.”
“Ithasindeed,sir.”
“Well,Ishan’tkeepyoulong.Yourmastercameinjustafterfive,Ibelieve?”
“Yes,sir.Heorderedteatobebroughttohimhere.Afterward,whenIcametotakeitaway,heaskedforJenningstobesenttohim—that’shisvalet,sir.”
“Whattimewasthat?”
“Abouttenminutespastsix,sir.”
“Yes—well?”
“IsentwordtoJennings,sir.Anditwasn’ttillIcameinheretoshutthewindowsanddrawthecurtainsatseveno’clockthatIsaw—”
Melrosecuthimshort.“Yes,yes,youneedn’tgointoallthat.Youdidn’ttouchthebody,ordisturbanything,didyou?”
“Oh!Noindeed,sir!IwentasfastasIcouldgotothetelephonetoringupthepolice.”
“Andthen?”
“ItoldJane—herladyship’smaid,sir—tobreakthenewstoherladyship.”
“Youhaven’tseenyourmistressatallthisevening?”
ColonelMelroseputthequestioncasuallyenough,butMr.Satterthwaite’skeenearscaughtanxietybehindthewords.
“Nottospeakto,sir.Herladyshiphasremainedinherownapartmentssincethetragedy.”
“Didyouseeherbefore?”
Thequestioncamesharply,andeveryoneintheroomnotedthehesitationbeforethebutlerreplied.
“I—Ijustcaughtaglimpseofher,sir,descendingthestaircase.”
“Didshecomeinhere?”
Mr.Satterthwaiteheldhisbreath.
“I—Ithinkso,sir.”
“Whattimewasthat?”
Youmighthaveheardapindrop.Didtheoldmanknow,Mr.Satterthwaitewondered,whathungonhisanswer?
“Itwasjustuponhalfpastsix,sir.”
ColonelMelrosedrewadeepbreath.“Thatwilldo,thankyou.JustsendJennings,thevalet,tome,willyou?”
Jenningsansweredthesummonswithpromptitude.Anarrow-facedmanwithacatliketread.Somethingslyandsecretiveabouthim.
Aman,thoughtMr.Satterthwaite,whowouldeasilymurderhismasterifhecouldbesureofnotbeingfoundout.
Helistenedeagerlytotheman’sanswerstoColonelMelrose’squestions.Buthisstoryseemedstraightforwardenough.Hehadbroughthismasterdownsomesofthideslippersandremovedthebrogues.
“Whatdidyoudoafterthat,Jennings?”
“Iwentbacktothestewards’room,sir.”
“Atwhattimedidyouleaveyourmaster?”
“Itmusthavebeenjustafteraquarterpastsix,sir.”
“Wherewereyouathalfpastsix,Jennings?”
“Inthestewards’room,sir.”
ColonelMelrosedismissedthemanwithanod.HelookedacrossatCurtisinquiringly.
“Quitecorrect,sir,Icheckedthatup.Hewasinthestewards’roomfromaboutsixtwentyuntilseveno’clock.”
“Thenthatletshimout,”saidthechiefconstableatrifleregretfully.“Besides,there’snomotive.”
Theylookedateachother.
Therewasatapatthedoor.
“Comein,”saidthecolonel.
Ascared-lookinglady’smaidappeared.
“Ifyouplease,herladyshiphasheardthatColonelMelroseishereandshewouldliketoseehim.”
“Certainly,”saidMelrose.“I’llcomeatonce.Willyoushowmetheway?”
Butahandpushedthegirlaside.Averydifferentfigurenowstoodinthedoorway.LauraDwightonlookedlikeavisitorfromanotherworld.
Shewasdressedinaclingingmedievalteagownofdullbluebrocade.Herauburnhairwaspartedinthemiddleandbroughtdownoverherears.Consciousofthefactshehadastyleofherown,LadyDwightonhadneverhadherhaircut.Itwasdrawnbackintoasimpleknotonthenapeofherneck.Herarmswerebare.
Oneofthemwasoutstretchedtosteadyherselfagainsttheframeofthedoorway,theotherhungdownbyherside,claspingabook.Shelooks,Mr.Satterthwaitethought,likeaMadonnafromanearlyItaliancanvas.
Shestoodthere,swayingslightlyfromsidetoside.ColonelMelrosesprangtowardher.
“I’vecometotellyou—totellyou—”
Hervoicewaslowandrich.Mr.Satterthwaitewassoentrancedwiththedramaticvalueofthescenethathehadforgottenitsreality.
“Please,LadyDwighton—”Melrosehadanarmroundher,supportingher.Hetookheracrossthehallintoasmallanteroom,itswallshungwithfadedsilk.QuinandSatterthwaitefollowed.Shesankdownonthelowsettee,herheadrestingbackonarust-colouredcushion,hereyelidsclosed.Thethreemenwatchedher.Suddenlysheopenedhereyesandsatup.Shespokeveryquietly.
“Ikilledhim,”shesaid.“That’swhatIcametotellyou.Ikilledhim!”
Therewasamoment’sagonizedsilence.Mr.Satterthwaite’sheartmissedabeat.
“LadyDwighton,”saidMelrose.“You’vehadagreatshock—you’reunstrung.Idon’tthinkyouquiteknowwhatyou’resaying.”
Wouldshedrawbacknow—whiletherewasyettime?
“IknowperfectlywhatI’msaying.ItwasIwhoshothim.”
Twoofthemenintheroomgasped,theothermadenosound.LauraDwightonleanedstillfartherforward.
“Don’tyouunderstand?Icamedownandshothim.Iadmitit.”
Thebookshehadbeenholdinginherhandclatteredtothefloor.Therewasapapercutterinit,athingshapedlikeadaggerwithajewelledhilt.Mr.Satterthwaitepickeditupmechanicallyandplaceditonthetable.Ashedidsohethought,That’sadangeroustoy.Youcouldkillamanwiththat.
“Well—”LauraDwighton’svoicewasimpatient.“—whatareyougoingtodoaboutit?Arrestme?Takemeaway?”
ColonelMelrosefoundhisvoicewithdifficulty.
“Whatyouhavetoldmeisveryserious,LadyDwighton.ImustaskyoutogotoyourroomtillIhave—er—madearrangements.”
Shenoddedandrosetoherfeet.Shewasquitecomposednow,graveandcold.
Assheturnedtowardthedoor,Mr.Quinspoke.“Whatdidyoudowiththerevolver,LadyDwighton?”
Aflickerofuncertaintypassedacrossherface.“I—Idroppeditthereonthefloor.No,IthinkIthrewitoutofthewindow—oh!Ican’tremembernow.Whatdoesitmatter?IhardlyknewwhatIwasdoing.Itdoesn’tmatter,doesit?”
“No,”saidMr.Quin.“Ihardlythinkitmatters.”
Shelookedathiminperplexitywithashadeofsomethingthatmighthavebeenalarm.Thensheflungbackherheadandwentimperiouslyoutoftheroom.Mr.Satterthwaitehastenedafterher.Shemight,hefelt,collapseatanyminute.Butshewasalreadyhalfwayupthestaircase,displayingnosignofherearlierweakness.Thescared-lookingmaidwasstandingatthefootofthestairway,andMr.Satterthwaitespoketoherauthoritatively.
“Lookafteryourmistress,”hesaid.
“Yes,sir.”Thegirlpreparedtoascendaftertheblue-robedfigure.“Oh,please,sir,theydon’tsuspecthim,dothey?”
“Suspectwhom?”
“Jennings,sir.Oh!Indeed,sir,hewouldn’thurtafly.”
“Jennings?No,ofcoursenot.Goandlookafteryourmistress.”
“Yes,sir.”
Thegirlranquicklyupthestaircase.Mr.Satterthwaitereturnedtotheroomhehadjustvacated.
ColonelMelrosewassayingheavily,“Well,I’mjiggered.There’smoreinthisthanmeetstheeye.It—it’slikethosedashedsillythingsheroinesdoinmanynovels.”
“It’sunreal,”agreedMr.Satterthwaite.“It’slikesomethingonthestage.”
Mr.Quinnodded.“Yes,youadmirethedrama,doyounot?Youareamanwhoappreciatesgoodactingwhenyouseeit.”
Mr.Satterthwaitelookedhardathim.
Inthesilencethatfollowedafar-offsoundcametotheirears.
“Soundslikeashot,”saidColonelMelrose.“Oneofthekeepers,Idaresay.That’sprobablywhatsheheard.Perhapsshewentdowntosee.Shewouldn’tgocloseorexaminethebody.She’dleapatoncetotheconclusion—”
“Mr.Delangua,sir.”Itwastheoldbutlerwhospoke,standingapologeticallyinthedoorway.
“Eh?”saidMelrose.“What’sthat?”
“Mr.Delanguaishere,sir,andwouldliketospeaktoyouifhemay.”
ColonelMelroseleanedbackinhischair.“Showhimin,”hesaidgrimly.
AmomentlaterPaulDelanguastoodinthedoorway.AsColonelMelrosehadhinted,therewassomethingun-Englishabouthim—theeasygraceofhismovements,thedark,handsomeface,theeyessetalittletooneartogether.TherehungabouthimtheairoftheRenaissance.HeandLauraDwightonsuggestedthesameatmosphere.
“Goodevening,gentlemen,”saidDelangua.Hemadealittletheatricalbow.
“Idon’tknowwhatyourbusinessmaybe,Mr.Delangua,”saidColonelMelrosesharply,“butifitisnothingtodowiththematterathand—”
Delanguainterruptedhimwithalaugh.“Onthecontrary,”hesaid,“ithaseverythingtodowithit.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Imean,”saidDelanguaquietly,“thatIhavecometogivemyselfupforthemurderofSirJamesDwighton.”
“Youknowwhatyouaresaying?”saidMelrosegravely.
“Perfectly.”
Theyoungman’seyeswererivetedtothetable.
“Idon’tunderstand—”
“WhyIgivemyselfup?Callitremorse—callitanythingyouplease.Istabbedhim,rightenough—youmaybequitesureofthat.”Henoddedtowardthetable.“You’vegottheweaponthere,Isee.Averyhandylittletool.LadyDwightonunfortunatelyleftitlyingaroundinabook,andIhappenedtosnatchitup.”
“Oneminute,”saidColonelMelrose.“AmItounderstandthatyouadmitstabbingSirJameswiththis?”Heheldthedaggeraloft.
“Quiteright.Istoleinthroughthewindow,youknow.Hehadhisbacktome.Itwasquiteeasy.Ileftthesameway.”
“Throughthewindow?”
“Throughthewindow,ofcourse.”
“Andwhattimewasthis?”
Delanguahesitated.“Letmesee—Iwastalkingtothekeeperfellow—thatwasataquarterpastsix.Iheardthechurchtowerchime.Itmusthavebeen—well,saysomewhereabouthalfpast.”
Agrimsmilecametothecolonel’slips.
“Quiteright,youngman,”hesaid.“Halfpastsixwasthetime.Perhapsyou’veheardthatalready?Butthisisaltogetheramostpeculiarmurder!”
“Why?”
“Somanypeopleconfesstoit,”saidColonelMelrose.
Theyheardthesharpintakeoftheother’sbreath.
“Whoelsehasconfessedtoit?”heaskedinavoicethathevainlystrovetorendersteady.
“LadyDwighton.”
Delanguathrewbackhisheadandlaughedinratheraforcedmanner.“LadyDwightonisapttobehysterical,”hesaidlightly.“Ishouldn’tpayanyattentiontowhatshesaysifIwereyou.”
“Idon’tthinkIshall,”saidMelrose.“Butthere’sanotheroddthingaboutthismurder.”
“What’sthat?”
“Well,”saidMelrose,“LadyDwightonhasconfessedtohavingshotSirJames,andyouhaveconfessedtohavingstabbedhim.Butluckilyforbothofyou,hewasn’tshotorstabbed,yousee.Hisskullwassmashedin.”
“MyGod!”criedDelangua.“Butawomancouldn’tpossiblydothat—”
Hestopped,bitinghislip.Melrosenoddedwiththeghostofasmile.
“Oftenreadofit,”hevolunteered.“Neverseenithappen.”
“What?”
“Coupleofyoungidiotseachaccusingthemselvesbecausetheythoughttheotherhaddoneit,”saidMelrose.“Nowwe’vegottobeginatthebeginning.”
“Thevalet,”criedMr.Satterthwaite.“Thatgirljustnow—Iwasn’tpayinganyattentionatthetime.”Hepaused,strivingforcoherence.“Shewasafraidofoursuspectinghim.Theremustbesomemotivethathehadandwhichwedon’tknow,butshedoes.”
ColonelMelrosefrowned,thenherangthebell.Whenitwasanswered,hesaid,“PleaseaskLadyDwightonifshewillbegoodenoughtocomedownagain.”
Theywaitedinsilenceuntilshecame.AtsightofDelanguashestartedandstretchedoutahandtosaveherselffromfalling.ColonelMelrosecamequicklytotherescue.
“It’squiteallright,LadyDwighton.Pleasedon’tbealarmed.”
“Idon’tunderstand.WhatisMr.Delanguadoinghere?”
Delanguacameovertoher,“Laura—Laura—whydidyoudoit?”
“Doit?”
“Iknow.Itwasforme—becauseyouthoughtthat—Afterall,itwasnatural,Isuppose.But,oh!Youangel!”
ColonelMelroseclearedhisthroat.Hewasamanwhodislikedemotionandhadahorrorofanythingapproachinga“scene.”
“Ifyou’llallowmetosayso,LadyDwighton,bothyouandMr.Delanguahavehadaluckyescape.Hehadjustarrivedinhisturnto‘confess’tothemurder—oh,it’squiteallright,hedidn’tdoit!Butwhatwewanttoknowisthetruth.Nomoreshillyshallying.Thebutlersaysyouwentintothelibraryathalfpastsix—isthatso?”
LauralookedatDelangua.Henodded.
“Thetruth,Laura,”hesaid.“Thatiswhatwewantnow.”
Shebreathedadeepsigh.“Iwilltellyou.”
ShesankdownonachairthatMr.Satterthwaitehadhurriedlypushedforward.
“Ididcomedown.IopenedthelibrarydoorandIsaw—”
Shestoppedandswallowed.Mr.Satterthwaiteleanedforwardandpattedherhandencouragingly.
“Yes,”hesaid.“Yes.Yousaw?”
“Myhusbandwaslyingacrossthewritingtable.Isawhishead—theblood—oh!”
Sheputherhandstoherface.Thechiefconstableleanedforward.
“Excuseme,LadyDwighton.YouthoughtMr.Delanguahadshothim?”
Shenodded.“Forgiveme,Paul,”shepleaded.“Butyousaid—yousaid—”
“ThatI’dshoothimlikeadog,”saidDelanguagrimly.“Iremember.ThatwasthedayIdiscoveredhe’dbeenill-treatingyou.”
Thechiefconstablekeptsternlytothematterinhand.
“ThenIamtounderstand,LadyDwighton,thatyouwentupstairsagainand—er—saidnothing.Weneedn’tgointoyourreason.Youdidn’ttouchthebodyorgonearthewritingtable?”
Sheshuddered.
“No,no.Iranstraightoutoftheroom.”
“Isee,Isee.Andwhattimewasthisexactly?Doyouknow?”
“ItwasjusthalfpastsixwhenIgotbacktomybedroom.”
“Thenat—sayfiveandtwentypastsix,SirJameswasalreadydead.”Thechiefconstablelookedattheothers.“Thatclock—itwasfaked,eh?Wesuspectedthatallalong.Nothingeasierthantomovethehandstowhatevertimeyouwished,buttheymadeamistaketolayitdownonitssidelikethat.Well,thatseemstonarrowitdowntothebutlerorthevalet,andIcan’tbelieveit’sthebutler.Tellme,LadyDwighton,didthismanJenningshaveanygrudgeagainstyourhusband?”
Lauraliftedherfacefromherhands.“Notexactlyagrudge,but—well,Jamestoldmeonlythismorningthathe’ddismissedhim.He’dfoundhimpilfering.”
“Ah!Nowwe’regettingatit.Jenningswouldhavebeendismissedwithoutacharacter.Aseriousmatterforhim.”
“Yousaidsomethingaboutaclock,”saidLauraDwighton.“There’sjustachance—ifyouwanttofixthetime—Jameswouldhavebeensuretohavehislittlegolfwatchonhim.Mightn’tthathavebeensmashed,too,whenhefellforward?”
“It’sanidea,”saidthecolonelslowly.“ButI’mafraid—Curtis!”
Theinspectornoddedinquickcomprehensionandlefttheroom.Hereturnedaminutelater.Onthepalmofhishandwasasilverwatchmarkedlikeagolfball,thekindthataresoldforgolferstocarrylooseinapocketwithballs.
“Hereitis,sir,”hesaid,“butIdoubtifitwillbeanygood.They’retough,thesewatches.”
Thecoloneltookitfromhimandheldittohisear.
“Itseemstohavestopped,anyway,”heobserved.
Hepressedwithhisthumb,andthelidofthewatchflewopen.Insidetheglasswascrackedacross.
“Ah!”hesaidexultantly.
Thehandpointedtoexactlyaquarterpastsix.
“Averygoodglassofport,ColonelMelrose,”saidMr.Quin.
Itwashalfpastnine,andthethreemenhadjustfinishedabelateddinneratColonelMelrose’shouse.Mr.Satterthwaitewasparticularlyjubilant.
“Iwasquiteright,”hechuckled.“Youcan’tdenyit,Mr.Quin.Youturneduptonighttosavetwoabsurdyoungpeoplewhowerebothbentonputtingtheirheadsintoanoose.”
“DidI?”saidMr.Quin.“Surelynot.Ididnothingatall.”
“Asitturnedout,itwasnotnecessary,”agreedMr.Satterthwaite.“Butitmighthavebeen.Itwastouchandgo,youknow.IshallneverforgetthemomentwhenLadyDwightonsaid,‘Ikilledhim.’I’veneverseenanythingonthestagehalfasdramatic.”
“I’minclinedtoagreewithyou,”saidMr.Quin.
“Wouldn’thavebelievedsuchathingcouldhappenoutsideanovel,”declaredthecolonel,forperhapsthetwentiethtimethatnight.
“Doesit?”askedMr.Quin.
Thecolonelstaredathim,“Damnit,ithappenedtonight.”
“Mindyou,”interposedMr.Satterthwaite,leaningbackandsippinghisport,“LadyDwightonwasmagnificent,quitemagnificent,butshemadeonemistake.Sheshouldn’thaveleapedtotheconclusionthatherhusbandhadbeenshot.InthesamewayDelanguawasafooltoassumethathehadbeenstabbedjustbecausethedaggerhappenedtobelyingonthetableinfrontofus.ItwasamerecoincidencethatLadyDwightonshouldhavebroughtitdownwithher.”
“Wasit?”askedMr.Quin.
“Nowifthey’donlyconfinedthemselvestosayingthatthey’dkilledSirJames,withoutparticularizinghow—”wentonMr.Satterthwaite—“whatwouldhavebeentheresult?”
“Theymighthavebeenbelieved,”saidMr.Quinwithanoddsmile.
“Thewholethingwasexactlylikeanovel,”saidthecolonel.
“That’swheretheygottheideafrom,Idaresay,”saidMr.Quin.
“Possibly,”agreedMr.Satterthwaite.“Thingsonehasreaddocomebacktooneintheoddestway.”HelookedacrossatMr.Quin.“Ofcourse,”hesaid,“theclockreallylookedsuspiciousfromthefirst.Oneoughtnevertoforgethoweasyitistoputthehandsofaclockorwatchforwardorback.”
Mr.Quinnoddedandrepeatedthewords.“Forward,”hesaid,andpaused.“Orback.”
Therewassomethingencouraginginhisvoice.Hisbright,darkeyeswerefixedonMr.Satterthwaite.
“Thehandsoftheclockwereputforward,”saidMr.Satterthwaite.“Weknowthat.”
“Werethey?”askedMr.Quin.
Mr.Satterthwaitestaredathim.“Doyoumean,”hesaidslowly,“thatitwasthewatchwhichwasputback?Butthatdoesn’tmakesense.It’simpossible.”
“Notimpossible,”murmuredMr.Quin.
“Well—absurd.Towhoseadvantagecouldthatbe?”
“Only,Isuppose,tosomeonewhohadanalibiforthattime.”
“Bygad!”criedthecolonel.“That’sthetimeyoungDelanguasaidhewastalkingtothekeeper.”
“Hetoldusthatveryparticularly,”saidMr.Satterthwaite.
Theylookedateachother.Theyhadanuneasyfeelingasofsolidgroundfailingbeneaththeirfeet.Factswentspinninground,turningnewandunexpectedfaces.Andinthecentreofthekaleidoscopewasthedark,smilingfaceofMr.Quin.
“Butinthatcase—”beganMelrose“—inthatcase—”
Mr.Satterthwaite,nimble-witted,finishedhissentenceforhim.“It’salltheotherwayround.Aplantjustthesame—butaplantagainstthevalet.Oh,butitcan’tbe!It’simpossible.Whyeachofthemaccusedthemselvesofthecrime.”
“Yes,”saidMr.Quin.“Uptillthenyoususpectedthem,didn’tyou?”Hisvoicewenton,placidanddreamy.“Justlikesomethingoutofabook,yousaid,colonel.Theygottheideathere.It’swhattheinnocentheroandheroinedo.Ofcourseitmadeyouthinktheminnocent—therewastheforceoftraditionbehindthem.Mr.Satterthwaitehasbeensayingallalongitwaslikesomethingonthestage.Youwerebothright.Itwasn’treal.You’vebeensayingsoallalongwithoutknowingwhatyouweresaying.They’dhavetoldamuchbetterstorythanthatifthey’dwantedtobebelieved.”
Thetwomenlookedathimhelplessly.
“Itwouldbeclever,”saidMr.Satterthwaiteslowly.“Itwouldbediabolicallyclever.AndI’vethoughtofsomethingelse.Thebutlersaidhewentinatseventoshutthewindows—sohemusthaveexpectedthemtobeopen.”
“That’sthewayDelanguacamein,”saidMr.Quin.“HekilledSirJameswithoneblow,andheandshetogetherdidwhattheyhadtodo—”
HelookedatMr.Satterthwaite,encouraginghimtoreconstructthescene.Hedidso,hesitatingly.
“Theysmashedtheclockandputitonitsside.Yes.Theyalteredthewatchandsmashedit.Thenhewentoutofthewindow,andshefasteneditafterhim.Butthere’sonethingIdon’tsee.Whybotherwiththewatchatall?Whynotsimplyputbackthehandsoftheclock?”
“Theclockwasalwaysalittleobvious,”saidMr.Quin.
“Anyonemighthaveseenthrougharathertransparentdevicelikethat.”
“Butsurelythewatchwastoofar-fetched.Why,itwaspurechancethatweeverthoughtofthewatch.”
“Oh,no,”saidMr.Quin.“Itwasthelady’ssuggestion,remember.”
Mr.Satterthwaitestaredathim,fascinated.
“Andyet,youknow,”saidMr.Quindreamily,“theonepersonwhowouldn’tbelikelytooverlookthewatchwouldbethevalet.Valetsknowbetterthananyonewhattheirmasterscarryintheirpockets.Ifhealteredtheclock,thevaletwouldhavealteredthewatch,too.Theydon’tunderstandhumannature,thosetwo.TheyarenotlikeMr.Satterthwaite.”
Mr.Satterthwaiteshookhishead.
“Iwasallwrong,”hemurmuredhumbly.“Ithoughtthatyouhadcometosavethem.”
“SoIdid,”saidMr.Quin.“Oh!Notthosetwo—theothers.Perhapsyoudidn’tnoticethelady’smaid?Shewasn’twearingbluebrocade,oractingadramaticpart.Butshe’sreallyaveryprettygirl,andIthinkshelovesthatmanJenningsverymuch.Ithinkthatbetweenyouyou’llbeabletosavehermanfromgettinghanged.”
“We’venoproofofanykind,”saidColonelMelroseheavily.
Mr.Quinsmiled.“Mr.Satterthwaitehas.”
“I?”Mr.Satterthwaitewasastonished
Mr.Quinwenton.“You’vegotaproofthatthatwatchwasn’tsmashedinSirJames’spocket.Youcan’tsmashawatchlikethatwithoutopeningthecase.Justtryitandsee.Someonetookthewatchoutandopenedit,setbackthehands,smashedtheglass,andthenshutitandputitback.Theynevernoticedthatafragmentofglasswasmissing.”
“Oh!”criedMr.Satterthwaite.Hishandflewtohiswaistcoatpocket.Hedrewoutafragmentofcurvedglass.
Itwashismoment.
“Withthis,”saidMr.Satterthwaiteimportantly,“Ishallsaveamanfromdeath.”
AbouttheAuthor
AgathaChristieisthemostwidelypublishedauthorofalltimeandinanylanguage,outsoldonlybytheBibleandShakespeare.HerbookshavesoldmorethanabillioncopiesinEnglishandanotherbillioninahundredforeignlanguages.Sheistheauthorofeightycrimenovelsandshort-storycollections,nineteenplays,twomemoirs,andsixnovelswrittenunderthenameMaryWestmacott.
ShefirsttriedherhandatdetectivefictionwhileworkinginahospitaldispensaryduringWorldWarI,creatingthenowlegendaryHerculePoirotwithherdebutnovelTheMysteriousAffairatStyles.WithTheMurderintheVicarage,publishedin1930,sheintroducedanotherbelovedsleuth,MissJaneMarple.Additionalseriescharactersincludethehusband-and-wifecrime-fightingteamofTommyandTuppenceBeresford,privateinvestigatorParkerPyne,andScotlandYarddetectivesSuperintendentBattleandInspectorJapp.
ManyofChristie’snovelsandshortstorieswereadaptedintoplays,films,andtelevisionseries.TheMousetrap,hermostfamousplayofall,openedin1952andisthelongest-runningplayinhistory.Amongherbest-knownfilmadaptationsareMurderontheOrientExpress(1974)andDeathontheNile(1978),withAlbertFinneyandPeterUstinovplayingHerculePoirot,respectively.OnthesmallscreenPoirothasbeenmostmemorablyportrayedbyDavidSuchet,andMissMarplebyJoanHicksonandsubsequentlyGeraldineMcEwanandJuliaMcKenzie.
ChristiewasfirstmarriedtoArchibaldChristieandthentoarchaeologistSirMaxMallowan,whomsheaccompaniedonexpeditionstocountriesthatwouldalsoserveasthesettingsformanyofhernovels.In1971sheachievedoneofBritain’shighesthonorswhenshewasmadeaDameoftheBritishEmpire.Shediedin1976attheageofeighty-five.Heronehundredandtwentiethanniversarywascelebratedaroundtheworldin2010.
Visitwww.AuthorTracker.comforexclusiveinformationonyourfavoriteHarperCollinsauthors.
www.AgathaChristie.com
THEAGATHACHRISTIECOLLECTION
TheManintheBrownSuit
TheSecretofChimneys
TheSevenDialsMystery
TheMysteriousMr.Quin
TheSittafordMystery
ParkerPyneInvestigates
WhyDidn’tTheyAskEvans?
MurderIsEasy
TheRegattaMysteryandOtherStories
AndThenThereWereNone
TowardsZero
DeathComesastheEnd
SparklingCyanide
TheWitnessfortheProsecutionandOtherStories
CrookedHouse
ThreeBlindMiceandOtherStories
TheyCametoBaghdad
DestinationUnknown
OrdealbyInnocence
DoubleSinandOtherStories
ThePaleHorse
StaroverBethlehem:PoemsandHolidayStories
EndlessNight
PassengertoFrankfurt
TheGoldenBallandOtherStories
TheMousetrapandOtherPlays
TheHarlequinTeaSetandOtherStories
TheHerculePoirotMysteries
TheMysteriousAffairatStyles
TheMurderontheLinks
PoirotInvestigates
TheMurderofRogerAckroyd
TheBigFour
TheMysteryoftheBlueTrain
PerilatEndHouse
LordEdgwareDies
MurderontheOrientExpress
ThreeActTragedy
DeathintheClouds
TheA.B.C.Murders
MurderinMesopotamia
CardsontheTable
MurderintheMews
DumbWitness
DeathontheNile
AppointmentwithDeath
HerculePoirot’sChristmas
SadCypress
One,Two,BuckleMyShoe
EvilUndertheSun
FiveLittlePigs
TheHollow
TheLaborsofHercules
TakenattheFlood
TheUnderDogandOtherStories
Mrs.McGinty’sDead
AftertheFuneral
HickoryDickoryDock
DeadMan’sFolly
CatAmongthePigeons
TheClocks
ThirdGirl
Hallowe’enParty
ElephantsCanRemember
Curtain:Poirot’sLastCase
TheMissMarpleMysteries
TheMurderattheVicarage
TheBodyintheLibrary
TheMovingFinger
AMurderIsAnnounced
TheyDoItwithMirrors
APocketFullofRye
4:50fromPaddington
TheMirrorCrack’dfromSidetoSide
ACaribbeanMystery
AtBertram’sHotel
Nemesis
SleepingMurder
MissMarple:TheCompleteShortStories
TheTommyandTuppenceMysteries
TheSecretAdversary
PartnersinCrime
NorM?
BythePrickingofMyThumbs
PosternofFate
Memoirs
AnAutobiography
Come,TellMeHowYouLive
Copyright
Thisbookisaworkoffiction.Thecharacters,incidents,anddialoguearedrawnfromtheauthor’simaginationandarenottobeconstruedasreal.Anyresemblancetoactualeventsorpersons,livingordead,isentirelycoincidental.
AGATHACHRISTIE?THREEBLINDMICEANDOTHERSTORIES?.Copyright?1950AgathaChristieLimited.Allrightsreserved.
THREEBLINDMICEANDOTHERSTORIES?1950.PublishedbypermissionofG.P.Putnam’sSons,amemberofPenguinGroup(USA)Inc.AllrightsreservedunderInternationalandPan-AmericanCopyrightConventions.Bypaymentoftherequiredfees,youhavebeengrantedthenonexclusive,nontransferablerighttoaccessandreadthetextofthisebookon-screen.Nopartofthistextmaybereproduced,transmitted,downloaded,decompiled,reverse-engineered,orstoredinorintroducedintoanyinformationstorageandretrievalsystem,inanyformorbyanymeans,whetherelectronicormechanical,nowknownorhereinafterinvented,withouttheexpresswrittenpermissionofHarperCollinsebooks.
FIRSTWILLIAMMORROWTRADEPAPERBACKPUBLISHED2012.
ISBN978-0-06-207442-3
EpubEdition?AUGUST2012ISBN:9780062243980
Version12142012
1213141516DIX/RRD10987654321
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